


An Alpha's Mate

by EmeraldOcean



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Some) Full Shift Werewolves, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (at the end of season 2), Anal Fingering, Begging, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Marking, Controlling Derek, Creeperwolves, Dirty Talk, Dom Derek, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, Injured Stiles, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Major Character (temporary) Injury, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Possessive Derek, Possessive Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Protective Derek, Protective Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Rimming, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scott and Stiles say "Dude" way too much, Scott is a Good Friend (for the most part), Self-Lubrication, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out (about everything), Soul Bond, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Sub Stiles Stilinski, Tags May Change, The Alpha Pack, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Un-Negotiated Kink, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski (eventually), Werewolves, gentle restraints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldOcean/pseuds/EmeraldOcean
Summary: The threat of a rival pack and the discovery of a previously forgotten Hale family legend has Derek playing reluctant partners with his uncle Peter. And that's not the only strange thing that Stiles has noticed about Derek lately. But even the unexpectedly pleasant changes to their relationship can't completely erase the feeling that there's something he's not being told... Something that may change his life irrevocably.[The story begins directly after the end of season 2, but diverges from canon completely thereafter. Also, Boyd and Erica don't get taken and/or killed by the alpha pack - because who's terrible decision was that, I ask you?]





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles’s whole body aches. Winding down from the epic shitstorm of the last few days by practicing lacrosse with Scott was, in hindsight, a terrible idea.

His dad’s cruiser is gone and the house is quiet when Stiles closes the front door behind himself and dumps his lacrosse gear in the foyer. His dad will definitely give him shit for leaving it there but he’s just too exhausted to care.

He considers detouring to the kitchen to grab something to eat, but even the siren call of sugary cereal will have to wait until after nap time.

The flight of stairs leading up to his bedroom seems unusually long, but he makes it all the way up eventually, trudging like an extra in The Walking Dead. If the stairs were carpeted he might seriously consider lying down right there at the top. They’re not though, and his bedroom is only a few more steps away – the promise of soft sheets and a comfy mattress urging him the final few feet and through the door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Stiles’s voice comes out louder than he intends, but who can really blame him right now? Because his super comfy bed isn’t as empty as it should be. 

Instead, the bed is full of six feet of snoozing werewolf, who blinks awake at the sound of Stiles’s outburst. 

“Where were you?” Derek asks, his voice rough with sleep. He sits up on the bed, but that’s about as far as he plans on moving by the look of things – which just will not do.

“None of your business is where I was. Why are you here?” Derek opens his mouth to speak but Stiles cuts him off before he can even utter a word. “You know what? Forget I asked. Whatever it is, leave me out of it.” 

Derek still doesn’t move, so Stiles walks over and closes his window just to give himself something to do. “I need to remember to lock this thing,” he mutters. 

He then leans tiredly against the window frame and spaces out watching his neighbor’s cat slinking around in the bushes. Her lithe black shape creeps inconspicuously toward the birdfeeder where a mourning dove is pecking at the seeds that other birds have knocked to the ground.

Stiles considers opening the window again so he can warn the dove off. The cat is getting awfully close…

“You think a lock would stop me?”

Stiles startles and gasps, whirling on Derek where the werewolf is standing just inches away. “Jesus, Derek, I thought you were done with that creeper wolf bullshit. What are you doing here?”

“You’re in pain,” Derek observes, lifting his hand to run gentle fingers over a bruise on Stiles’s cheek.

“Uh… well, yeah. Fragile human here, remember? It takes more than three seconds for me to heal, unlike _some_ people I know.” He scoffs and tries to edge around Derek’s sizable bulk so that he can get to his bed – It’s so close, yet so far away – when Derek stops him with a hand on his bicep.

Stiles looks up, ready to share his thoughts about creeper wolves who don’t understand boundaries, when said wolf lifts his other hand and grasps Stiles firmly by the back of his neck.

He freezes, fervently hoping that he’s not about to experience Derek’s usual form of reprimand – he can still feel the phantom pain from his forehead hitting the steering wheel of his Jeep. Though now that he thinks about it, what he’s feeling may actually be real pain from his most recent escapades. 

He waits, holding his breath, but additional pain doesn’t come. In fact, the sting in his cheek, as well as the bone-deep ache that’s pretty much all-encompassing at this point begins to lessen. With the relief comes a sense of drowsy contentment that Stiles hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time he felt this good (outside the bliss of self-inflicted orgasms, of course). 

“Sort of gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘magic fingers,’” Stiles slurs. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the black lines of his pain working its way up Derek’s arm and he slumps in relief, head bowed and body swaying forward without any conscious effort on his part. 

A firm, but gentle pressure guides his head to rest against a mass of warm muscle. The heat of Derek’s body, along with the tickle of quiet wuffling next to his ear causes him to shiver, and it takes Stiles longer than he cares to admit to realize that he’s basically being cradled by Derek fucking Hale, alpha werewolf and brooder extraordinaire. 

And it takes him even longer than that to remember that this situation is not only unprecedented, but also very, very weird. But damn, it sure does feel nice. Almost nice enough to forget that the mouth which is brushing so teasingly over the sensitive skin of his throat is full of razor sharp teeth capable of tearing out his jugular with great ease. Almost nice enough… but not quite.

“So,” he practically shouts, jerking out of Derek’s hold and back up against the window frame. “Once again, what are you doing here?” His voice cracks embarrassingly at the end and he clears his throat while trying to gain some composure. “You know, besides keeping me from catching some primo Zs and getting werewolf cooties all over my sheets.”

In another unexpected move, Derek plants a hand on the wall next to Stiles’s head and leans in close, somehow without the air of murderous rage which usually accompanies this kind of close contact with the grumpiest of all the Hales. That’s not to say that Stiles doesn’t still feel like prey at the moment.

“I need your help.” Derek’s voice is soft and smooth, no tightly controlled anger making it clipped or harsh. 

Stiles swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and turns his head to avoid Derek’s fixed green gaze. The motion puts him in view of the birdfeeder again and he’s sad to see that both the cat and the bird have gone, leaving behind an alarming number of grey/brown feathers in their place. 

“Stiles.”

“Yep. Yes. That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Stiles’s eyes flit around the room – pausing longingly on his welcoming bed – before looking anywhere and everywhere that isn’t Derek’s face. 

The whole confluence of events happening right at that moment makes for an excellent recipe for an awkward fear boner, and Stiles is positive that additional time spent looking at Derek’s stupidly handsome face certainly won’t help matter.

Unfortunately, Derek doesn’t seem to understand Stiles’s predicament because he grasps Stiles by the chin and forces his gaze. 

“ _Stiles,_ ” he says again. And if he thinks that repeating Stiles’s name in that uncharacteristically pleasing way is going to help Stiles focus on anything other than the situation in his pants, well the werewolf is sadly mistaken. “I told you, I need your help.”

With what, Stiles can’t possibly imagine, but he supposes that he’ll never know unless he asks, so… “What could you possibly need my help with?”

Derek considers him for a moment, then he steps back enough to give Stiles a bit of breathing room. “There’s an alpha pack in town who’ve made their presence known.”

“What do you mean, ‘alpha pack’?” Stiles inquires, because no matter what the answer to that question is, it can’t be good.

“I mean,” Derek begins, obviously annoyed at being questioned so early into his explanation. “There is a rival pack in my territory, and they are _all_ alphas.”

“Well, that can’t be good news,” Stiles observes.

“It’s not.”

“Ok… well, do you know what they want?” After about half a minute of silent staring, Stiles is pretty sure that Derek will refuse to answer, and he once again finds himself annoyed by the whole situation and wishing that Derek wasn’t so allergic to straight answers. 

“I’m not sure,” he finally says, which yeah, it’s technically an answer, but not a very helpful one. 

“Right. And exactly what is it that you expect me to do? Because unless they’re looking for a virgin sacrifice or something, I really don’t know how I’m supposed to help.” Derek’s eyes flash red and he growls, and Stiles _really_ doesn’t feel good about that reaction. “I’m sorry, did I say, ‘virgin’? I meant Virgo, because there are no virgins here. No, siree Bob. Definitely no virgins to be sacrificed in this room. In fact, there are no Virgos to be sacrificed either. No sacrificing to be done here at all really. So… oh holy God!”

Once again Stiles is backed up against the window frame. Though this time Derek’s eyes are red and there’s a hint of fang when he says, “No one is going to be sacrificing you.” 

“Ok, sure. Whatever you say, big guy. I’ve gotta tell you though, you’re kind of sending me some majorly mixed signals here.” From suave and somewhat seductive one minute, to murderous rage monster the next, Stiles is starting to get some serious emotional whiplash. Also quite possibly some physical whiplash as well from all the times he’s been shoved up against hard surfaces by a certain alpha beefcake. 

Derek relaxes his grip and steps back a half-step, smoothing down Stiles’s t-shirt and scaling back the wolfy accoutrements as well. 

“Sorry.” 

Wait… _Sorry?!_ Did Derek actually just willingly apologize to Stiles un-prompted? Is that a real, actual event that just transpired? The occurrence is so shocking that it renders Stiles momentarily speechless – eyes wide and mouth gaping while he attempts to figure out the catch. 

“Wait… Am I being punked right now? Or no, is this like, the first sign of the apocalypse or something? I know – I’m actually dead and this is some sort of bizarre afterlife where all the things I thought to be impossible happen just to fuck with me. It’s a test, right? It’s like that Dr. Seuss book ‘Wacky Wednesday’ and all I have to do is to point out all the things that ‘don’t belong here at all’ and then everything will go back to normal… right?”

“Stiles!”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Right.” Ok, so not quite so different after all. Derek is still fractious and domineering, and Stiles still talks too much. 

“Look,” Derek says, swiping a hand over his face in frustration. He appears to be attempting to calm himself before speaking further – which, quite frankly, speaks to Derek’s growth as a human being (werewolf being, whatever), so Stiles tries to keep quiet in an attempt to assist Derek in his therapeutic endeavors. “I could use your help in researching the alpha pack. I know that you’re good at that sort of thing and I don’t really have much time right now.”

Research. Yeah, ok, Stiles can see that being a legitimate reason for Derek to request his assistance. Though why Derek doesn’t have the time to do it himself is still a mystery. It’s not like the guy can spend _all_ his time brooding and perfecting the styling of his facial hair. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll help you.” He finally moves around Derek and makes it to his bed, flopping down like a dead fish while most of his limbs hang off the edges. He really needs to talk his dad into getting him a bigger bed. He outgrew this one forever ago. “But not yet,” he clarifies, lifting his head up to glare at Derek. “I’ve got to get through this last week of school first, and then I’ll be able to spare some time for you and your supernatural crap.” 

Derek huffs and Stiles assumes that that’s as close to a heartfelt goodbye as he’s likely to get when he lays his head back and closes his eyes and the only other sound he hears is the soft click of his bedroom door being shut. 

He lies there motionless for a minute, contemplating whether or not he has the energy to jerk off before he goes to sleep. On the one hand, the memory of Derek’s soft voice saying Stiles’s name, as well as his hot body pressed up against him is a definite inducement. On the other hand, he may very well fall asleep before he makes a decision. 

Which is why he jack-knifes up on the bed when something grabs him by the ankle, causing him to jerk to full wakefulness. “What the fu-!” His heart gives a confused lurch when his fear quickly turns to relief at seeing Derek kneeling down at the side of his bed with a firm grasp on Stiles’s left foot. “Christ, Derek! I thought you’d left. What the hell are you doing down there?”

What the hell he is doing becomes a little more clear when Derek slips off Stiles’s right shoe before switching feet and doing the same to the left. “You’re pain is starting to come back… I can smell it.”

Wait, what? “You can smell pain?” He knew that already, right? Probably. Well, maybe. But wait… “Does that mean that you can smell other types of ‘feelings’ as well?” 

Stiles has the abrupt urge to move both hands to cover his junk – recalling exactly what he had just been thinking about doing mere moments ago. It’s a near thing, but he stops himself right before spying the somewhat smug-looking smirk gracing Derek’s unfairly beautiful face and yes, he already knows the answer to that one. Even if Scott hadn’t told him all that time ago, the way Derek slowly drags his gaze up the length of Stiles’s body makes it perfectly clear that the answer is unequivocally ‘yes.’

Regardless, Derek doesn’t appear satisfied with simply helping Stiles take off his shoes. No, what Derek really wants becomes startlingly clear when he leans up and positions his fingers alarmingly close to the button of his khakis. Though it’s probably best to be sure, just in case.

Stiles flinches and props himself up on his elbows, looking down at the werewolf kneeling between his thighs. “Uh, whatcha doin’ down there, buddy?” 

“Well, Stiles…” And there he goes saying his name in that sex voice that he apparently owns again. “You’ve agreed to help me, so I’ve decided to help you.”

“Oh.” There probably should be some sort of follow up questions here, but the sight of Derek’s nimble fingers deftly undoing the button, and then the zipper of his pants makes Stiles instantly forget about things like intent, and consent for that matter. And anyway, if Derek’s emotional maturity ages out at around fifteen – maybe sixteen tops – does that mean that they’re about the same age really? The sheriff would probably say no, but Stiles is trying very hard not to think about his father right now. “Oh God…”

He lays his head back down and shoves a hand in his mouth – trying desperately to stifle the moan that wants to leap out at the mere idea of Derek’s hands being anywhere near his dick. He’s got to get a grip real quick if he doesn’t want to lose it before he even gets his pants off. Maybe he should try thinking about his father after all… that’s a surefire way to kill an erection. 

Derek takes an obscene amount of time pulling Stiles’s khakis down, but instead of going for the waistband of his boxers next, he slides his palms up the backs of Stiles’s calves and lightly squeezes him behind the knees. Now, Stiles thought that he already knew all of the erogenous zones on his own body… but apparently he was wrong. Dear Lord, it’s as if there’s a hidden button located behind his knees that when pressed leads directly to his dick. Which of course makes it literally impossible to hide the downright pathetic whimper that escapes his vocal chords at the touch.

“Shh…” Derek soothes. Stiles throws his arms up above his head and squirms, heart rate and breaths picking up speed as he feels his face start to flush. He’s torn between acquiescing by staying quiet, and shouting out loud at Derek to do something! Anything! 

In the end he does neither – for instead of any or all of the sinful things that Stiles has imagined happening the first time he gets undressed by another person, Derek’s hands stay firmly planted where they are, using his magic fingers to draw out the returning aches and pains which only now, in their absence, has Stiles been made aware. 

He sighs noisily with relief – the dull, painless throbbing in his hands and feet echoed in his stiff cock. He feels like he could probably come if he focused hard enough, but the drowsy warmth which accompanies Derek’s (officially best) parlor trick makes him actually prefer the feel of teetering somewhere near the edge of that familiar and well-traveled cliff.

“Come by after school tomorrow,” Derek whispers into his ear an indeterminable amount of time later. He thinks he feels the comfortable weight of his duvet settled over him, but his eyelids are just too damn heavy to open far enough to check. “I’ll text you my new address.”

“K…” Stiles replies simply. Or at least he thinks he replies. He can’t really be sure. 

Just like he can’t really be sure of the soothing fingers that run through the short strands of his hair, or even the sweet breath that whispers his name into his throat. 

“ _Stiles…_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering... It may, or may not, seem like Scott could possibly be attracted to Stiles because of how he acts in this chapter. Rest assured that that is not what's happening. I hope that this chapter explains well enough exactly why Scott behaves in the way he does, because it's going to be somewhat of a running theme. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank you all so much for all the kudos and subscriptions, and especially the comments. The response to this story has been incredible and I really appreciate all the love. <3 <3 <3

“Stiles!”

“Derek?” 

A swift knocking on his closed bedroom door precedes a view of the sheriff’s confused, frowny face, looking extra sweaty and disheveled.

“Did you just say, ‘Derek?’” his dad asks while wiping his hands on a red-stained kitchen towel. 

“What? No! Of course not! Why would I- wait… are you bleeding? What happened?!” Stiles struggles with his covers so that he can jump out of bed and rush over to his father, tripping over his shoes on the way.

He fights with his dad over possession of the soiled cloth, finally ripping it away and tossing it to the floor before fastidiously checking over his hands for cuts or scrapes. 

“Stiles, knock it off. It’s just tomato sauce.” He reaches down to pick up the discarded towel and Stiles sighs in relief before dropping down into his desk chair. The rude awakening, coupled with the sudden physical activity has left him rather dizzy and disoriented. “I just came up here to tell you that dinner will be done soon, so you need to come downstairs. Melissa and Scott are going to be joining us.” 

“Really?” Stiles rubs the remaining sleep from his eyes before squinting up at his dad. And his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him – the sheriff really is looking quite haggard. “Why are you so sweaty?”

“I’m not-“ The sheriff rubs the back of his hand over his forehead and then glances down at the shining droplets of sweat adorning his skin. “Ok, fine, I’m pretty sweaty.” He uses the stained towel to wipe the rest of the sweat off his face, but with the way he’s flushing, a new sheen of sweat just takes its place. 

“Are you sick or something?” He stands up again to place the backs of his fingers against his father’s shiny forehead. It feels wet and clammy, but not feverish. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” he insists. But Stiles is very observant and knows his father well. There’s something strange going on. 

“Are you _nervous_?” he asks then, and yep, that must be it, because his dad rolls his eyes and huffs, while quite tellingly avoiding Stiles’s gaze. 

“No, I’m not nervous. Now put on some pants and come downstairs.” He twirls on his heal like a attitudinally challenged toddler and rushes downstairs, and Stiles starts to wonder if he’s still asleep and this is just part of a very weird dream. 

After his father is gone, Stiles pauses a minute to take stock of himself and his surroundings. His shoes are askew on the floor from where he tripped over them – right where Derek had left them after slipping them off Stiles’s feet. He’s also still wearing the same amount of clothes that he last remembers wearing – t-shirt, boxers, and socks. 

He rubs a hand vigorously over his face to wake up more thoroughly, and then drops his hand down to his crotch, where his boxers are dry and his dick is still kind of hard. Ok, so it’s a fair guess to say that nothing really happened when Derek was there. Which is good, he figures, because if something did happen, he doesn’t remember it, and that’s bad for several reasons that he’d rather not think about right now. 

It’s kind of disappointing too – which is also something that he doesn’t want to think about right now, so instead he gets up and finds his discarded khakis, slipping them on before putting his shoes on as well for good measure. 

He then shivers due to a unexpected breeze, and he looks over to see that his window is wide open again – the setting sun casting an orange glow over the landscape below. Huffing in frustration, he stomps over and slams the window shut, locking it angrily. And he even gets most of the way back to his door before sheepishly hurrying across the room to unlock it again.

“ _God damn creeper wolves and their inability to use perfectly good doors like normal people_ …” Stiles grumbles to himself on his way down the staircase. When he makes it to the kitchen, his dad is putting a tray of food in the oven and then frantically trying to get the digital timer to work. “You made lasagna?” 

The sheriff glances at him with something like uncertainty on his face, and Stiles knows that his father understands the significance of his question. Lasagna was one of his mom’s specialties – the only vegetarian dish that his dad would eat without complaint. They don’t have it very often. Usually only when an occasion is significant enough to distract from the bittersweet memories that come along with it. 

“Yeah, I did. I hope that’s ok.” He finally gets the timer to work and then he turns to Stiles, waiting for a confirmation that his choice of meal won’t be too upsetting for him. 

“Yeah! That’s totally fine, Dad. You said that Scott and his mom are coming to eat with us?” 

His dad deflates with relief, and then begins to rush around the kitchen again. Stiles thinks that he’s attempting to control the chaos that seems to have resulted in this feat of culinary excellence, but he isn’t really managing to be very effective. In fact, it appears as though he’s making an even bigger mess than what was already there. And the sweaty nervous situation that he’s got going on also looks to be getting worse. 

“Yeah, I hope that’s ok too.” There’s a sauce spill on the counter that is starting to drip down the front of the cabinet, and there’s way more mixing bowls stacked up in the sink than he should ever have needed in the first place. “I ran into Melissa at the grocery store and thought it would be nice to get together with them and catch up.” 

Which Stiles calls bullshit on because they both know very well that there isn’t any catching up to be done. Scott _and_ his mom already know everything of any significance that there is to know right now. And his dad knows everything that he _can_ know that isn’t supernatural in nature – and it’s not like they’re going to be spending the evening filling him in on any of _that_ ridiculousness, so there’s got to be another reason for this auspicious event. 

But he decides not to press the issue. His dad looks to be about thirty seconds away from a total breakdown, and Stiles doesn’t think that an interrogation would be very good for the sheriff’s blood pressure. So instead he places a steadying hand on his dad’s forearm to stop his frantic movement and guides him toward the stairs. 

“We have a little bit of time before they’re supposed to be here, right?” His dad nods and Stiles relaxes and tries to exude an aura of calm while he speaks. “Alright. So this is what’s going to happen… You’re going to go take a quick shower so it doesn’t look as though you’ve been slaving in the mines all day…” His dad gives him a grade-A glower. “… and I’m going to finish up in here.”

His dad nods again and slumps in relief, beaming a smile of pure gratitude before he turns to go. “There’s a loaf of garlic bread in the freezer, and stuff for a salad in the fridge. Oh, and open up that bottle of wine that’s on the counter so it has time to breathe.”

 _Wine?_ Stiles thinks to himself. He raises a questioning brow at his father’s retreating form but doesn’t comment, giving a simple, “Aye aye, Captain!” before turning back to the carnage of their formerly (mostly) clean kitchen.

He opens the bottle of red first, and then the garlic bread goes into the oven with the lasagna. A rapid, but thorough cleaning of the kitchen gets done next, and then by the time that he’s putting the finishing touches on the salad, the doorbell rings and the sheriff comes rushing down the stairs shouting, “I’ll get it!” like he thinks that he’s going to have to fight Stiles for the right to let the McCalls into the house. 

Shaking his head at his father’s antics, Stiles brings both the salad bowl and utensils into the dining room before going back into the kitchen. He hears his dad offering to take Melissa’s jacket, and then all three of them arrive in the kitchen just in time for the oven alarm to go off.

“Hey, Stiles,” Melissa greets him with a smile and a little wave. “It smells wonderful in here. Did you cook?” 

“Oh, no, Mrs. McCall. That was all my dad.” He takes the lasagna and the garlic bread out of the oven and places them on the stovetop, luckily remembering to turn off the oven as well.

“Really?” she says, delighted. 

Stiles sees his dad blush along with his answering smile. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just vegetarian lasagna. Would you like a glass of wine?” he pours one glass with mildly shaking hands and Stiles shares a wide-eyed look with Scott while he takes off the oven mitts and sets them on the counter.

“I’d love one. Thank you, Noah.” She accepts the glass with a smile and takes a sip. “This is very good.”

Stiles doesn’t know _exactly_ what’s going on right now, but he does recognize a good opportunity to take advantage of his father’s state of freak-out when he sees one. “Can me and Scott have some too?” he asks. 

His dad considers the request for a moment, pouring a glass for himself in the meanwhile. “Half a glass,” he finally says. 

Stiles fist pumps in the air and rushes to get down two more wine glasses to set on the counter. He shares a not-so-secret, smug look with Scott, but their mutual good cheer is interrupted when Melissa says to Scott, “Not so fast, mister. You’re driving us home tonight, so I’m sorry but you’re going to have to stick to soda.” 

Scott looks like a kicked puppy after she says it, and Stiles is just shitty enough to stare directly into his eyes while he takes an obnoxious sip from his own, freshly poured glass. The feeling of superiority is short lived though, because the relatively unfamiliar burn of the alcohol causes him to choke and cough – his eyes watering while his dad smacks him on the back unhelpfully. 

Scott gives him a shit-eating grin, which is really fucking annoying, and Stiles wonders why he even cares that much anyway… it’s not like he can get drunk, what with his werewolf metabolism. He is petty enough to still want the upper hand in this moment though, so he fishes a child’s sippy cup out of the back of a cabinet (it was left behind from when Stiles had babysat their neighbor’s kid last summer) and fills it with milk from the fridge before handing it over to Scott.

Scott, the little shit, just takes it and smiles – a wolfish grin that is in no way impeded by the way Scott sucks noisily on the hard plastic spout. “Thanks, buddy.” 

By the time they’re done fucking around, Stiles realizes that his dad and Melissa have gone through into the dining room with the wine bottle, so he tells Scott to grab the tray of lasagna and the serving utensils, while he busies himself with piling the sliced up pieces of garlic bread into a basket which he balances on top of a stack of plates. 

“Dude,” he remembers belatedly that he has wolfy info to share with Scott, but they don’t have time right now. “I’ve got something important to tell you later. Don’t let me forget.” Scott gives him a confused look – though that’s pretty par for the course when it comes to his best friend. 

“Is it an explanation as to what the hell is happening with them?” He asks, jerking his head toward the dining room where they can hear Scott’s mom murmur something that causes Stiles’s dad to laugh – loudly and genuinely. 

“Don’t look at me, man. I’m just as confused as you are.” He’s observant enough to hazard an educated guess, of course, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to admit to his best friend that it’s looking more and more like Stiles’s dad is trying to get into Scott’s mom’s pants. And that’s definitely not something that he wants to think about – for a variety of reasons. “It’s something else.”

Scott nods and leads the way into the dining room, the sippy cup jauntily riding in his back pocket.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dude,” Scott groans, making a disgusted face. “Vegan cannolis are _terrible_.” 

Stiles has to agree, but he really does appreciate Melissa’s commitment to Stiles’s quest to keep his dad healthy through aggressive use of low-cholesterol, low-sodium, low-carb foods. 

They’re up in Stiles’s room at this point, Melissa and the sheriff downstairs having (decaf) coffee and dessert while they ‘catch up.’ Stiles tries not to consider that ‘catching up’ may be code for making it to second base on their couch. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for that to be a reality quite yet. 

“Then why are you eating a second one?” Stiles asks. He walks over to look out the window – squinting through the gloom to look for any red-eyed lurkers that may be huddled outside. He thinks he sees something moving near the tree line but it’s gone in a blink. He pulls back and closes the blinds, but leaves the window unlocked. 

“Hey – food’s food.” His tautology is concise and Stiles’s can’t really argue with it, not that he cares enough to want to at any rate. Scott shoves the last of the second cannoli in his mouth and flops down onto Stiles bed face-first, and Goddamn it Scott! Now there’s going to be crappy vegan cannoli mashed all up in his pillow. He doesn’t stay in that position long though. He pops right back up and sits back on his knees with a constipated look on his face. “Dude, why the hell does your bed smell like Derek?!” 

“Uhhh…” He had teased Derek about ‘werewolf cooties’ earlier, but the thought that Derek had actually marked Stiles’s bed with his scent enough that Scott could smell it makes his brain short out for a moment – his brain-to-mouth pathway almost completely useless for a while. After a few seconds, or quite possibly several hours, Scott gives him a ‘go on’ look and gesture, and Stiles tries to remember how to use words properly. “That’s the important thing that I had to tell you, remember?”

“The important thing to tell me is that Derek was in your bed?” 

Stiles feels himself helplessly blushing at Scott’s insinuation so he sits at his desk and turns his back on his friend. He wakes his computer up and opens Twitter – scrolling through tweets without actually reading them. “Dude, no. Get your head out of that particular gutter. He was here waiting for me when I got home.”

“Waiting for _you? Why?_ ”

“Try not to sound so appalled, Scott. Why wouldn’t he be waiting for me? I’m awesome!” 

“That’s not what I- Just… what did he want?”

When Stiles is sure that his face isn’t quite as red as before, he swivels his chair back around to face the _second_ wolf to have inhabited his bed that day. “He said that there’s a pack of alphas in town and he wants my help with research.”

“There’s a pack of alphas in Beacon Hills?!” Scott shouts. Stiles shushes him and throws a highlighter at his surprised and outraged face, hitting him right between the eyes. Yes! Three points! “Dude!”

“Yes, Scott… a pack of alphas. That’s what he said.” He tries not to think about everything else that happened that morning. 

Maybe that was a bad idea though, because Scott narrows his eyes and cocks his head and says, “You smell embarrassed. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Jeez, what’s with everyone being all up in my emotional business today? You know, you guys should have to ask before you stick your noses in my scent glands.” Scott growls lowly – probably even subconsciously and he gets up off the bed to loom over Stiles in the chair. 

“Was he scenting you?!” Stiles doesn’t get a chance to answer before Scott leans down and starts sniffing all over Stiles’s head and throat – the rapid tickling sensation causing him to jerk back and slap Scott's face away gently. 

“Dude! What the were-sniffer?!” Scott sneezes and rubs at his nose, looking highly unamused. 

“His scent is all over you,” he says. And oh, God… that’s even more boner-inducing. “ _Why_ is his scent all over you, Stiles?”

Stiles sighs and leans back in his chair so he doesn’t have to crane his neck up so far. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Though why you think it would be a good reason to sound so accusatory if it _were_ what you think, I have no idea.” 

“Stiles! You’re a member of _my_ pack, not his! Having him rub his scent all over you is like a slap in my face. That day that you had to hold him up in the pool for all that time? I wanted to punch him in the face and like, pee on you or something.”

Stiles squawks and pushes his chair back – getting as far away from Scott as he could. “No way! Absolutely not, my friend! Blood, sweat, and tears are one thing, but I draw the line at watersports.”

“I wouldn’t actually pee on you, man. It’s just this weird instinct I have now to like, mark my territory or something. Oh, and speaking of blood… your Jeep _still_ smells like Derek because he bled on your seat. It drives me crazy when I smell it.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything about this before?” he asks, legitimately curious.

“Dunno.” He shrugs and pouts. “It’s probably because I’ve been so focused on Allison that as long as she smelled like just me, I was calm enough to not let it get to me that much.” Ok, sure. Stiles can see that, he supposes. “You and my mom are all I really have left now,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’d handle it well if I lost either one of you.”

“Scott…” Scott keeps his arms crossed tightly across his chest while he stares at the ground, jaw clenched. Stiles sighs and considers, watching Scott’s rigid countenance. “How much time do you think we have before you leave?”

Scott looks up and cocks his head. “Not sure… half hour? Forty five minutes maybe? Why?”

Stiles gets up and rummages through his draws for a clean set of clothes. “I’m going to go take the world’s fastest shower, and you’re going to stay here and roll around in my bed until I get back. Then, after I’m all clean and free of stinky were-cooties, you’re going to go about covering me right back up again. Just Scotty cooties this time. Will that make you feel better?”

An excited twinkle lights up Scott’s dark brown eyes and he smiles, relaxing his stance and yanking off his shoes. “Can I change the sheets first? _Please?_ ” he begs. 

“God, you’re so fucking weird. Yes, fine! You know where the clean sheets are.” He heads to the bathroom and does indeed take a very fast shower – five minutes, maybe six, tops. He dries off and dresses equally fast and he takes the time to brush his teeth before going back to his room. “You’d better not be rubbing your stank booty all over my sheets!” he announces to the room at large. “I don’t want to get pink eye!”

Scott freezes in the act of wiggling around in the middle of the mattress. “I kept my pants on,” he assures Stiles. “And I kept my ass off your pillow!” Oh God, he’s such a puppy. How anyone is supposed to take him seriously is a true mystery. “Come here.”

Stiles breathes out a put-upon sigh but follows Scott’s order. There really is not enough room in his bed for two (mostly) grown guys. He has _got_ to get a bigger bed. 

Scott stands up and manhandles Stiles into lying down flat on his back and then proceeds to climb on top of him and shove his face in Stiles’s neck. “Dude! Is this method absolutely necessary?!”

He doesn’t know exactly how he expected Scott to go about covering Stiles with his scent, but he hadn’t even considered that it would be so fucking awkward. 

“How else am I supposed to get my scent on you? You already said I couldn’t pee on you.” Stiles gags and shoots Scott a glare when the wolf lifts his head to smirk down at Stiles. Then it’s right back to fucking nuzzling.

Stiles closes his eyes and squirms. He knows that Scott isn’t trying to seduce him or anything like that, but Stiles is a mildly-touch starved sixteen-year old dude who’s extremely unconcerned with the gender of any person that takes an interest in touching him – especially when they spend so much time focusing on extremely sensitive parts like Stiles’s neck. Christ! Was that his tongue?!

Stiles hears his phone ping with a text notification where it’s sitting on his desk and he tries to flail out of Scott’s hold. “Ok, ok! That’s enough, Fido! Get your hairy ass off of me! I need to check my phone.” 

Scott licks a broad swipe up Stiles’s cheek just to be a dick and then levers himself up and out of the way enough for Stiles to slip out of his bed. He plops back down onto his chair and snatches up his phone, quickly typing in his passcode and opening his texts. 

“It’s from Derek,” he tells Scott. “It’s his new address.” 

“He actually has an address now?” Scott wonders aloud. Stiles chuckles mirthlessly, reading the rest of the message. 

“That asshole! I told him that I wouldn’t help him until next week!” he complains. Scott yanks the phone out of his hand to read the message himself. It’s just a curt, ‘ _Tomorrow. Don’t forget._ ’ but Scott is glaring at it like it’s an insult to his mother instead. 

“The fucking nerve he has.” He types something and Stiles tries to snatch it back but Scott is too strong where he holds Stiles back with one hand. 

Finally, Stiles slumps back in the chair in defeat. It’s not like it really matters what Scott is texting to Derek. 

Scott taps at the screen a few more times before handing it back. An equally curt, ‘ _No. Next week._ ’ is what Scott sent, apparently. It could have been worse. 

“I don’t want you going there without me.” 

“Ok, _Dad,_ ” Stiles retorts. “I wasn’t planning on it anyway,” he assures. “If you weren’t over here already I would have called you to tell you about it. I would have done it earlier but I fell asleep.”

“And that’s another thing!” Scott’s offense doesn’t appear to be diminishing any. “You shouldn’t have had to tell me because Derek should have done it already! He should have come to me before ever going to you!”

Stiles just rolls his eyes at his friend’s posturing. Jesus! “How did Allison ever put up with this crap?” The words are spoken in an extremely quiet mutter, but he should have remembered enhanced wolfy hearing. 

“It wasn’t as bad with her.” Which is surprising. “She never smelled like another wolf,” he explains. And ok, that makes sense. “And I never had the alpha of another pack sneaking around with her behind my back, telling her what to do.” 

“Wow! This is like, a big deal to you, isn’t it?” A heads up would have been nice, he thinks. “What if I _want_ to spend time with him without you? Are you going to like, fight him or something?”

“Probably not,” he hedges. “It would be difficult to deal with though, I’m sure.” His head snaps up when he seems to remember something. “Wait… Is that why Derek’s scent was all over you?!”

“For fucks sake! I already told you… _No!_ ” Actually, this conversation may have gone better if it really had been his father that he was conversing with. And that’s really saying something! “I was really sore from all the shenanigans of the last few days, and Derek said that he could smell that fact and then he offered to do that freaky werewolf magic pain suck thingy – well, I say ‘offered,’ when what I really meant is that he just sort of grabbed me and felt me up with his big ole spooky voodoo paws until I passed out.”

“Yeah,” Scott shouted sarcastically. “Because that isn’t at all suspicious! Oh my God! Did he… violate you?!” Scott seems genuinely concerned about the state of Stiles’s virtue, which he appreciates, but he sets the record straight for everyone’s sake. 

“Dude. No. He just touched me on the back of my neck and behind my knees. I’m completely un-violated.” 

“At the same time?” Scott asks.

“At the same time what?” 

“Did he touch your neck and behind your knees at the same time? That sounds awkward.” 

“No. He- You know what?! It doesn’t matter. It was all very PG.” _Except for the raging boner and the groping of Stiles’s previously unknown sexy spots, that is,_ Stiles thinks to himself. “And it was really helpful too, I’ve got to say. I feel much better. Also, why the hell haven’t you ever done that for me before?! It’s like magical morphine. I wonder if it’s addictive,” he muses.

“Do you want me to do it now?” Scott asks, looking like he’s ready to leap into action as soon as Stiles gives the word. 

“Nah. I told you, I’m better now. I don’t smell like pain now, do I?” 

Scott steps forward and shoves his face in Stiles’s throat again, which… rude. “Dude! Boundaries!” Scott steps back again looking confusingly disappointed. 

“I don’t smell any pain.” 

“See! I’m fine. Hey, why don’t we forget about alpha wolves for the time being? We’ve probably got a little more time left before my dad works up the nerve to ask your mom out on a date and she says yes and they both realize how late it’s getting. Why don’t we study for our history final, which is tomorrow, if you don’t remember?”

“Stiles, that’s my _mom_ ,” Scott whines. 

“Hey, it’s not any weirder for you than it is for me,” Stiles assures him. “How about that studying?”

“Fine.” He flops back down onto Stiles’s bed and groans.

“Great! Alright then, let’s get to work!” Stiles pulls up a study guide that he made on his laptop. He’s had about enough of all the supernatural crap for one day. He’d much rather try to help Scott remember centuries-old, romanticized facts about a bunch of dead white guys so that he doesn’t fail U.S. History. “First question: Who was the first president to live in the White House?”

“Um… Benjamin Franklin?”

Stiles sighs and full-on face palms, resigning himself to unparalleled frustration for the foreseeable future.


	3. Chapter 3

“So how do you think you did?” The sour look on Scott’s face gives a clue as to the answer to Stiles’s question. Stiles opens his locker and grabs a couple of books to bring home with him. He stuffs them into his backpack and glances over at Scott, who still looks like he just sucked on the most sour of all the lemons. 

"Better than I thought I'd do," Scott admits.

“Then why does your face look like it did last night when your mom snuck her hand down to grab my dad’s ass during their goodbye hug?” Stiles asks.

“Oh God, don’t remind me!” They both shiver in disgust, though Stiles secretly smiles. It’s been a very long time since his dad was truly happy, and he honestly doesn’t know a woman alive who’s more amazing than Mrs. McCall.

“Sorry, Scotty." Stiles says. "But I think we’re going to have to prepare for a very uncomfortable amount of parental PDA in the near future. I’d still like an answer to my question though.”

Scott sobers immediately and tilts his chin towards the empty air over Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles looks behind himself and sees Isaac standing not too far away, flanked by Boyd and Erica – the latter of which is giving him a very predatory look. Though that’s not unusual now-a-days. 

“Oh yeah,” he remembers. “Boyd and Erica are back. But you knew that already – we’ve seen them in like, every class today. So why the dirty-diaper look now?”

Stiles slams his locker shut and they slowly begin to make their way to the exit.

“Exactly!” Scott whisper-shouts. “Every time I saw you today, at least one of those three were within arm’s reach of you!”

“Really?” He tries to recall the nearness of Derek’s betas throughout the day and yeah, maybe there had been an extra dose of wolfiness on hand at all times. It didn’t really seem unusual at the time though. They’d actually been a lot more friendly than normal… _oh…_ yeah, that probably should have been a glaringly obvious abnormality. 

Scott halts their progress down the hall by yanking Stiles to a stop. “Stiles! It was like you had werewolf body guards around you all day!”

“Isn’t it me who usually overreacts to any given situation?” Stiles asks. “Why are _you_ freaking out about this?” 

“I don’t know!” Scott’s voice has gotten so loud that all the other students making their way down the hall give them a very wide berth. Except for Derek’s betas, of course – those three appear to be waiting for them at the door. 

Scott looks as though he doesn’t know which way is up. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on his backpack straps and he’s shifting restlessly from foot to foot. 

“Scott man, chill out. They’re not going to like, hurt me or something. They’ve actually been nicer to me than usual today.”

“And you don’t find that strange?” 

Stiles glances over to the betas again and this time Isaac is smirking at him and looking up at Stiles through his thick lashes, Erica is making kissy faces, and even stoic Boyd has an attractive little crooked grin on his face. Stiles is somewhat weirded out at the display, sure, but at least they aren’t knocking him out with vandalized car parts today. 

And yes, the bar is set pretty low when it comes to people’s treatment of Stiles – he knows this – so sue him if he doesn’t want to go looking attractive gift horses in their mouths right now. “I don’t know, Scott! Maybe they just want to be my friend? It’s not like I’ve got too many of those.”

“You’ve got me,” Scott says, sad brown eyes doing their damnedest to make Stiles feel guilty when he’s done absolutely nothing wrong. 

Stiles sighs and scratches the back of his head. “I know I do, buddy, I know. I’m just saying… I’m not going to push them away just because they’re being _nice_ to me. You know, we could probably _all_ be friends if we weren’t fighting for our lives every other day.” Scott shrugs, his eyes on the floor. “We could do like, pack bonding nights where we order pizza and watch movies or something. Oh! How about mini-golf?! We haven’t been mini-golfing in forever!”

“I’m not a part of their pack, Stiles!” Scott barks. “And neither are you!” Stiles flinches at Scott’s vehemence, and he notices Isaac take a step toward them before Boyd’s hand snaps out and holds him back. Erica whispers something in Isaac’s ear and Scott turns to glare at her and to growl in their general direction. 

“Scott! Knock it off!” Stiles pushes Scott to get his attention and he’s happy to see that Derek’s betas are finally making their way out the door. “Look, they’re leaving. Don’t let them get to you, man. They’re probably just trying to rile you up.” Scott scowls at their retreating backs, but stops growling too, so Stiles considers it an acceptable compromise. “Hey, why don’t we go back to my place and study some more? Tomorrow is our chemistry final and you just _know_ that Harris would love nothing more than for us to fail.” 

Scott shifts his grip on his backpack and turns back to face him. “Yeah, I guess,” he says before seeming to remember something. “Oh shit, no! I can’t! I just remembered that I’ve got that make up essay for English that I have to take right now. It was an in-class thing so I have to stay here to do it.”

“Oh, well that’s alright. Just call me when you’re done. Maybe we can hang out then.” Scott looks torn between rushing away to do his makeup work and just blowing it off to leave with Stiles instead. Scott needs this though, Stiles knows. “Go on, man. Your mom will kill you if you fail and have to go to summer school.”

Stiles’s logic is indisputable, like always. 

“Fine. Just… be careful,” Scott warns. “It’s not just Derek and his betas that I’m worried about. We still don’t know anything about this so-called ‘alpha pack.’ And I can’t protect you if I’m not around you, so just go straight home and stay there.”

Again with the out of character overprotectiveness. What is up with today?

“Dude, you worry too much. Just go write your essay. I’ll be fine.” Scott still looks unconvinced, but eventually goes – though not before giving Stiles a thorough hug, complete with awkward face-rubbing all over Stiles’s neck. 

Stiles rubs at his neck on his way out the door, trying to rub away the feel of his best friend’s skin touching his skin. It’s weird, ok?

“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Stiles clutches his chest to press against his racing heart. One moment he was alone and the next, Erica was standing next to him with her arm linked through his like she’d just passed her apparition exam and wanted to show off. 

He glances over his other shoulder to see that Boyd and Isaac are following closely behind. None of them say anything – they just not-so-surreptitiously surround him as he walks to where his Jeep is parked near the back of the lot. 

And when he reaches his sky blue baby, the reason for the furry entourage becomes a little more clear, because leaning up against the back bumper is Derek, looking powerful and serious and devastatingly handsome, as per usual. But that doesn’t mean that Stiles will necessarily do what Derek wants him to do right now.

“I told you to give me _one_ week, Derek. Why couldn’t you give me that?”

“We don’t have a week to waste,” Derek says, pushing himself away from the Jeep to stalk slowly toward Stiles. “The alpha pack is here _now_. We need to figure out a way to deal with them.”

Stiles folds his arms across his chest and cocks a hip, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Derek. “How come you’re so sure that they’re here for nefarious reasons?” he asks. 

“When has _anything_ happened in this town that wasn’t nefarious?” Isaac interjects. And yes, fine, Stiles can give him that one. 

“I just know,” Derek claims, like what he says is fact based solely on bald assertion. 

“You ‘just know,’” Stiles asks, wanting it to be clear to Derek how ridiculous he sounds. 

“Yes.” And that’s all, apparently. That’s as much as Derek is willing to give. 

“You know, Derek, this whole, me helping you thing would be a whole lot easier and less frustrating if you’d just _tell me things_!” 

“What am I supposed to tell you, Stiles?” Derek asks emphatically. “I just know! It’s a feeling – an instinct. They’re here in my territory and I can sense that they’re looking for trouble. You’re not a wolf – you wouldn’t understand!” 

“Well, and there’s also that weird symbol that someone left on the door of your old house,” Isaac adds helpfully. 

Derek glares at him but doesn’t comment; instead he turns back to Stiles. “Just get in my car. Erica will drive yours.”

Stiles turns to see Erica holding his keys aloft and smirking at him. “What the hell, Erica?! How did you get those?!” Of course she doesn’t answer though – she just stands there flipping his keys around her finger with the air of a Dickensian pickpocket just after a successful score. 

Derek goes around the Camaro where it’s blocking his Jeep and holds the passenger door open, looking at Stiles expectantly. “Get in.”

“You’re such a cavewolf, Derek,” Stiles says as he walks over. He throws his backpack down into the footwell and then faces Derek again. “I’ll go with you on one condition… you have to tell me everything that you already know about this pack and why they’re here. Otherwise you can find yourself another research flunky.”

Derek looks at least 25% more pained than usual while he considers Stiles’s request, so it could go either way really.

“I’ll tell you everything I can,” he finally responds. And while that may sound like complete acquiescence to a casual observer, Stiles knows Derek well enough to understand that it’s quite clearly an equivocation. Though honestly, it’s more than Stiles expected to get.

“Ok, fine. I’ll go. But I have to call Scott and let him know. He’s being weird about me being around you guys for some reason.” Stiles moves to get into the car but Derek doesn’t take any action to get out of his way. Stiles knows that it’s an act of intimidation, but he’s becoming less and less susceptible to Derek’s bark with every day that passes and the wolf doesn’t bite. So in an act of defiance, Stiles just squeezes by him to get into the seat, pressing practically his whole body against the firm expanse of Derek’s manly form. 

But maybe Stiles was wrong about Derek’s motives, because his scowl changes to a smirk and he grasps Stiles by the back of the neck to guide him down into the seat, obviously leaving Stiles covered in his scent as much as possible.

“And we’re going to talk about _that_ today too!” Stiles promises, leaning his body away from the door so that Derek can close it. 

As Derek gets in and both vehicles speed away, Stiles takes out his phone and sends Scott a quick text – telling him that he’s going to Derek’s and that everything is fine. 

He knows that Scott won’t be happy about it, but Scott needs to chill out. And besides, Stiles may be part of his pack, as Scott claims, but he isn’t a wolf. He doesn’t have the instinct to please an alpha like the rest of them do. So Scott will just have to deal.

“Sooo,” Stiles begins, trailing his fingers over the shining leather dash. _Man, it smells good in here_ , he thinks. “But seriously though… Alpha packs: Love ‘em or leave ‘em. Inquiring minds want to know.”

Derek glances over, his eyes turning away from where they were focused on the sinuous glide of Stiles’s slender digits. “We think there are five of them,” he starts. “Or maybe four – We picked up five different scents in the preserve, but two of them were so similar that it was hard to tell.” 

From there Derek proceeds to tell Stiles about the symbol on his door – how it’s one that Derek was taught about as a child. It’s the symbol for an alpha pack, and it’s never a good sign. He says that if a pack sees that symbol on their door, they’d better prepare for a fight.

He claims that he doesn’t know exactly what the alpha pack’s intentions are, but that they need to know more about them so that they can figure it out before confronting them. And that any additional knowledge they can get will help in giving them a leg up with such a formidable opponent (according to Peter, at least… so Derek says). 

By then Derek is pulling up to a huge building in the industrial district – looking quite formidable itself, what with its horrifying state of decrepitude. 

“You live here?!” Stiles asks incredulously. Derek just gives him a dirty look and gets out of the car, with the obvious implication that Stiles is to follow. To be fair though, since Stiles has known Derek, the alpha has lived in first, the burned out husk of his childhood home, and then an abandoned train depot. So this current hovel is actually quit an improvement. And who knows? Maybe it’s really nice inside. Maybe it’s the beginning of one of those hipster gentrification deals that Stiles is always hearing about. 

Or maybe not.

Ok yes, it is a marked improvement on his previous two domiciles. At least this one looks to have indoor plumbing and a functioning kitchen (he assumes when he peeks to the side and sees a nook with an oven and a fridge. There’s even a Keurig on the counter with a k-cup dispenser sitting right next to it (which he will definitely have to make use of while he’s here).

There’s a couch in one corner and a bed in another. And Stiles tries not to think about the various things that Derek does in that bed at night. Or possibly during the day. Stiles has no idea when Derek actually sleeps. 

“Hello, Stiles.” Peter descends a spiral staircase next to the huge, exposed windows at the back of the cavernous room. He’s handsome. And charming. Stiles will cop to that. But he’s also an undead murderous psychopath who killed his own niece. 

“Why isn’t he rotting away beneath some dusty floorboards again?” Stiles turns towards Derek to ask, trying to ignore the smiling wolf that’s walking his way. 

“Don’t be like that, Stiles,” Peter purrs. “I’m just here to help.” He comes to a stop hovering over Stiles’s shoulder and way too close for comfort. Derek starts to growl and flashes those ruby red peepers, and Peter backs off to stand over by the table near the window. “I was just saying hello, nephew. There’s no need for all that.” 

Derek’s eyes fade back into their usual captivating green, and he beckons Stiles over to the couch, where there’s a laptop turned on and waiting for them.

“The Hale family bestiary is on here.” They both sit, and Derek places the laptop on Stiles knees so he can see the screen. Derek leans over to use the mousepad, and Hello! That’s Derek’s chest leaning up against Stiles’s side – his hairy, muscular arm braced on the back of the sofa. “Start looking through it for any info on the alpha pack.”

“And what are you going to be doing?” he asks. Derek hasn’t moved away – just turned his head to look Stiles in the face while he talks. Wow, those eyes are really green… 

“Training,” Derek says. And he smirks when he shrugs out of his leather jacket and pulls his t-shirt up over his head, baring the flat planes and tightly curved mounds of Derek’s torso like, millimeters away from the bare skin of Stiles’s forearm. 

“Oh, ok. Yeah. Sure. Uh huh, uh huh. You do that.” Stiles rambles foolishly – trying in vain to focus his gaze on the computer screen instead of the miles of beckoning flesh that’s getting up off the couch and walking away with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. 

He almost doesn’t notice Peter slinking over to sit on the arm of the sofa, but eventually his creep alarm goes off in his head and he turns to see the older man looking down at him – his customary smirk in place while his piercing blue eyes travel over his face. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be training?” Stiles asks, turning back to his task. Stiles knows that it isn’t a good idea to turn your back on a predator, but the faster he gets this done, the better. 

While waiting for Peter’s answer (Or not. Stiles doesn’t really care if Peter answers him), Stiles realizes that he doesn’t even need to be here. He can just email himself the bestiary and do this shit at home, where there are no creepy zombiewolves invading his space. 

“I’m skipping this session so that I can make sure you don’t do that,” Stiles hears Peter say. And why the fuck isn’t his email page booting up? Oh, that’s why – the internet isn’t connected. 

“Make sure I don’t do what exactly?” Stiles mostly ignores Peter in favor of trying to get a wifi connection. 

“Make sure that you don’t try to get a copy of that document.” 

That gets Stiles’s attention pretty well. He abandons his quest for connectivity in favor of gaping up at Peter. “What? Why?!”

“Because,” he says, sliding down onto the seat cushion and crossing his legs. “It’s a private Hale Family document, and I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

Stiles throws a glare Derek’s way (who’s very pointedly ignoring him) before lobbing an equally annoyed one at his uncle. “So, to do this all-important and time-sensitive research, I have to physically be here in this crap apart-“ Derek growls from across the room in response to Stiles’s slight on his living space. “Sorry. In this wonderful example of supreme comfort and modern living-“ Derek’s distraction is enough of an in for Boyd to knock the alpha on his ass, and Stiles can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Boyd, you’re my new best friend.” The beta winks at him, causing Stiles to smiles even more, and it takes a moment to remember why he’s there and what he’s doing. Oh yeah, Peter’s being an insufferable jackass. “This is a crap deal, Walkerwolf. You know it’s only a matter of time before you start eating faces. I’d be much safer reading this at home.”

“You think I’d start with your face?” Peter whispers, like the true creep that he doesn’t even pretend not to be. 

Stiles scoots away from him and squawks in surprise when Peter is yanked out of his seat and thrown across the room. Derek growls at him to take his place in leading the training session, and then he takes Peter’s position on the sofa, sitting back to observe Stiles’s progress and the rest of his domain. 

He’s still annoyed that he has to do this here, but at least he has a good view. 

Stiles focuses on reading for about twenty minutes, but with every passing page, he’s getting more and more distracted. It’s not only Derek’s warm presence next to him on the couch that’s making the words on the screen blend together like that though. His Adderall has worn off and it’s making him feel hungry and desperate to get up and move about. 

“You got any snacks in this place?” he asks. 

He shifts the laptop to the cushion next to him and gets up, heading for the corner with the fridge. Derek blocks his way just before he reaches it, which is not very nice at all.

“You’ve barely started.” The accusation is accurate, but Stiles knows himself well enough by now to know that attempting any kind of study when he feels like this is a totally lost cause.

“Dude, my meds have worn off. And if you expect me to do this research here instead of at home, you’re going to have to work with me.” Derek looks guiltily down at the floor, uncrossing his arms and shifting his stance to something less threatening. 

“What do you need?” He asks. 

“Well, ideally I could use a dose of my Adderall.” Stiles glances over and notices the Keurig that he had made note of earlier. “But since you obviously don’t have any of that to give me, I guess I’ll have to do with some caffeine. You got anything to add to that coffee over there? Or do you just drink it black like the super manly macho man that you are?” he inquires, pointing towards the k-cup dispenser, which is full up with many more options than he had any right to hope for. 

Again, a man of few words, Derek simply opens the fridge and brings out a carton of half and half, and then walks over and sets it down on the counter next to a small, covered sugar bowl.

“Sweet!” Stiles exclaims. He turns on the Keurig and goes searching through three cabinets before he finds the coffee mugs. He picks a hazelnut-flavored variety and pops it into the machine. 

“Won’t the coffee just make you more…” Derek makes an unintelligible hand gesture, though Stiles can guess what he’s alluding to. 

“Prone to behaving like a human pinball machine?” Stiles finishes for him. Derek nods. “No, actually. Caffeine and Adderall are both stimulants. Which, you know, works ass backwards for me because of the way my brain is wired. Caffeinated drinks can help when I forget my meds. Or if I can’t get to them.” 

Stiles gives Derek a pointed look before he goes about adding an unnecessary amount of cream and sugar to his coffee. Oh man, this shit is _delicious_! Now if he only had a snack, he would be golden. 

A tall cabinet succeeds in producing a veritable gold mine of food, but a lot of it is raw ingredients and seasonings, and he wonders for the first time what Derek eats. Stiles can’t actually remember Derek ever eating anything in his presence, but from the contents of the pantry, it looks as if Derek might actually be something of a cook. Unless maybe it’s Peter or Isaac that fill that role. Maybe even Erica or Boyd if they spend enough time here. Stiles just doesn’t know. He sort of wants to know now.

There is one shelf that has a few bags of chip-like items and some other pre-packed things like fruit leather and granola bars, and it’s there that Stiles finds gold. “Dude! Reece’s cups?! Can I have these? Pretty, pretty please?” He flutters his eyelashes in what he thinks is a coy, becoming way, but what in reality probably looks more like he’s having a stroke. 

“Don’t call me ‘Dude’ again and they’re yours,” Derek responds. Stiles can tell that he’s serious, though that doesn’t stop Derek’s lips from twitching like he’s actually considering smiling. Then again, maybe Derek is the one having a stroke. 

“Deal du- errrr- erek… Derek.” Grabbing his coffee off the counter, Stiles makes his way back to the couch – ripping into the familiar orange package with his teeth. 

He can’t eat the candy and hold his mug at the same time, and Derek apparently draws the line at coffee tables for some reason, so he takes a scalding sip and then places it on the floor between his feet before absolutely going to town on those glorious little wheels of chocolate-peanut buttery goodness. 

“Want some?” he asks Derek belatedly. His mouth is full, having just shoved one whole cup in along with biting off half of the other. 

“Sure.” The answer surprises him. Nevertheless, he hands over the remaining half of the last peanut butter cup – teeth marks and all. 

Derek licks the edge where Stiles’s teeth had made an impression, his eyes closing in bliss as he hums at the taste. It’s mesmerizing – the way Derek nibbles with his front teeth to draw out the experience and how he licks his lips, the sheen of saliva more tempting than the very treat that Stiles was just drooling over. 

No. No way. The sight of Derek enjoying himself can’t be enough to make his dick feel like that – There’s a noticeable vibration jostling his already interested member, which certainly isn’t helping a Goddamn thing right now. 

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Stiles is horrified to watch Derek look down at Stiles’s crotch when he says that, but when he follows Derek’s gaze, he realizes that the continuing vibrating sensation is coming from the phone in his pocket, and he rushes to answer it before the call can go to voicemail.

“Hello?” He hadn’t looked at the caller ID, but he still isn’t surprised. 

“Come out here,” Scott demands, voice tight and clipped. 

“Out where?” Stiles asks. “I’m not even home right now.” 

“I know that, Stiles!” Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear for a moment. Just because Scott’s upset doesn’t mean that Stiles has to get a burst eardrum. “You texted me, remember? Told me that you were going to Derek’s without me – something that I _specifically_ told you not to do! Now come down here!” 

Derek plucks the phone out of Stiles’s hand and brings it up to his own ear. “Isaac’s on his way down to let you in.” He then hits the ‘end call’ icon and hands it back. Derek’s touch lingers when their hands meet for the exchange. Then when he pulls back, instead of letting go completely, Derek drags his fingers lightly up the length of his arm and up over his shoulder until his hand is resting firmly on the back of Stiles’s neck. 

The firm squeeze makes Stiles feel as if he’s a marionette with cut strings and he slumps further into his seat, careful not to kick over his coffee mug. “You know, even if I can’t smell it, I still know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stiles.” Derek’s thumb is rubbing up and down the length of his throat though, so Stiles calls bullshit. 

“Sure you don’t, Sourwolf.” Derek’s eyebrows furrow at the nickname. “And just so you know, Scott hates it when I smell like you.”

“I know he does,” Derek says, giving one last squeeze before raising himself up off the couch to stand between Stiles and Scott, who has just stalked through the door. He looks raring to fight. Stiles just hopes it’s not him that Scott wants to fight with. 

“Move,” Scott demands.

“No,” Derek responds simply.

Stiles rolls his eyes and works on finishing his coffee until Scott starts growling and Derek changes his stance in preparation for a fight. Stiles thinks that that’s his cue to get involved.

“All right, all right. Stow the posturing bullshit you two.” He gets up and goes back to the kitchen to give a quick clean of his empty mug. “Let’s just stay for a while, Scott. You can study here just as well as at my house. Or you can train with the others. It’ll be fun!”

“No. You need to focus on finals right now, Stiles. Remember? That’s what you told _him_.”

“I know, but Scott, the sooner we get this shit done, the sooner we can deal with it. And besides, you know I study better when I’m focusing on more than one thing at a time. I can do both!” 

“One hour. Then we’re out of here.” He doesn’t have his backpack with him but Scott follows Stiles to the couch anyway. That’s fine, Stiles has his stuff with him. 

Stiles picks the laptop back up, but before he can sit back on the middle cushion like he had before, Scott plants himself there, strategically placing himself between Stiles and Derek. He even presses himself up against Stiles’s side while he looks through the borrowed chemistry book.

Derek sits on the other end of the sofa for roughly three minutes. After that he gets up and walks over to where the betas are throwing each other around, but again, he only observes for about a minute before he makes his way back over to the couch, finally perching himself on the arm next to Stiles much like Peter had done. Of course, when Derek does it Stiles finds that he doesn't mind all that much. 

“Don’t you have something more important to do?” Scott asks Derek. He’s aggressively flipping through pages and Stiles really hopes that he doesn’t rip any out. He doesn’t need another reason for Harris to hate him.

“Nope,” Derek replies, cool as a cucumber. 

Scott continues to abuse Stiles’s textbook, so Stiles does what he does best – tries to lighten the mood. “Short and sweet is our Derek,” he says, attempting to draw their attention to himself instead of each other. “Well, maybe not so sweet. Definitely short though. An alpha of few words. Right, Sourwolf?” 

“Yep,” he responds and shifts closer to Stiles. He begins to subtly caress Stiles’s shoulder with one finger, making the back of his neck heat up. It would be fine. He could just ignore it. But then, of course, Scott seems to notice the shift in mood because he throws the chemistry book down to the floor and stands to face Derek – growling like an attack dog, and this shit is getting old real fast. 

“Ok, STOP!” Stiles stands and shoves the laptop at Derek in hopes that it will distract him from killing Scott. “I can’t do this with you two acting like toddlers!”

“I can make him leave,” Derek offers. He’s gotten rid of the laptop and is now cracking his knuckles and stretching out his neck and shoulders. He should look ridiculous, but Stiles is appalled at how attractive it makes him look instead. Jesus, fuck, he’s strong. But to get back on track…

“I think we’ll both leave,” Stiles says instead. 

Derek’s not happy, Stiles can tell. And his betas don’t look very pleased either. But whatever the reason for Scott’s current change in behavior, he’s still Stiles’s best friend. And that means he comes first – at least when it comes to pointless games of tug-o-war with Derek. 

He gathers up the spilled contents of his backpack and pushes Scott towards the door. “We’ll just have to postpone this for now. Unless you can give me a copy of the bestiary to take home with me…?” Derek looks to Peter who shakes his head in the negative (no surprise there). “Well then, we’re leaving. Isaac? You want to walk us out?” 

Isaac looks surprised and seems to silently ask Derek’s permission, which he gives with a nod. The alpha looks like he wants to stop them, or at least follow after them. He doesn’t though. Instead he stands with his fists and jaw clenched – following Stiles with his eyes. 

When they get down to where the cars are parked, Stiles remembers that he never got his keys back from Erica. Luckily, Isaac must have done it for him. 

“Keep the keys, Isaac,” Scott tells him. “Follow us to Stiles’s house and I’ll bring you back after. Stiles, get in the car.”

Stiles squawks indignantly at being denied his baby. Again. “Dude! Why can’t I just drive myself?” 

“Because I can’t let you. Now get in the car!”

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes, but eventually stomps his way over to Scott’s car. “You know, this super-controlling boyfriend act is really getting in the way of my life, Scott.” Stiles slams the door behind him and shoves his backpack down between his knees. “And we’re not even boyfriends!”

“I know, Stiles… I know.” He slams his palm against the steering wheel in frustration, the stress obviously getting to him. “I don’t want to act like this! I just can’t seem to help it!”

“Maybe we should go see Deaton? It seems like it’s getting worse- Scott, look out!”

Scott slams on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting a pedestrian with a walking stick like vision impaired people use. The man simply turns toward the windshield and stands there. 

Scott and Stiles share a nervous look, then tumble out of the car in unspoken agreement to make sure the man is alright. The sound of a third car door opening lets Stiles know that Isaac has also stopped to investigate. 

And Stiles should have known better than to let his guard down when unexpected things happen in Beacon Hills. He really, really should have known. 

Because one minute Scott is shouting at the man, asking if he’s ok… and the next minute all the werewolves in the immediate vicinity (which is significantly more than the two that Stiles arrived with) are running and snarling and Stiles feels the most painful sensation that he’s ever experienced in his entire life – a razor-sharp stab to the back of his neck – while he’s tackled to the hard ground. 

He’s stunned by the blow to his head on the pavement, but he can still hear Scott calling his name. It’s just… it sounds so far away… Why does it sound like that? 

And why can’t he feel his body? He should be able to feel… his…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. The chapter was just getting too long so I decided to end it there. I'll try to get the next out asap!


	4. Chapter 4

“ _I called Derek. He said that we should take him to Deaton. He’s going to meet us there._ ”

“ _Deaton?! We need to take him to the hospital!_ ”

“ _He’s been bitten, Scott! He’ll get better or he’ll die. You know that. We can’t take him to the hospital. Not unless he…_ ”

………………………

“ _Why isn’t he waking up? The wound is healing. Shouldn’t he have woken up by now?_ ”

“ _It looks like the bite may have hit his spinal cord. That kind of injury will take time to heal, Scott. Plus, there’s the head injury. It may be a while yet._ ”

“ _I want to take him home. In case he doesn’t wake up, I think it would be better if… I think he would want… I need to take him home…_ ”

……………………

Stiles is having the most vivid dream. He’s running through the preserve barefoot with Scott. They’re running so fast that they’re scaring rabbits and squirrels and birds – the woodland creatures squawking and squeaking and making a general racket as the jubilant teens race through the forest. 

At first he thinks that it’s the middle of the day, but then he realizes that it’s dusk – the setting sun casting an orange glow over the greens and browns of the preserve. But the limited visibility doesn’t matter because Stiles’s senses are extremely heightened. He can see better, hear better, and run faster. But above everything thing else, he can smell more intensely than ever before.

Stiles takes a deep breath and is awash in the varied scents of the forest. The sharp tang of evergreen sap mixes with the sweet, earthy smell of fallen leaves and the softer scent of flowers and fresh growth. But then he breathes again – slower this time – and that’s when he picks up the muskier scents of animals. 

There’s one scent in particular that catches his attention. He’s not sure why even, he just knows that he needs to find that scent and bury his face in it. He wants to breathe it in all day, every day, starting right the fuck now. 

“ _Derek, I think he’s waking up._ ”

Stiles starts to run faster – really pushing himself so that his breathing comes forced and his heart races in his chest. It doesn’t matter though. Nothing matters if he can just reach that scent. And he thinks it’s getting closer… 

“Stiles!”

Stiles blinks his eyes open and flinches back when he sees Derek’s worried face directly in front of his own. He takes quick stock of the rest of his bedroom, noticing Scott immediately. 

Something serious must have gone down because he looks just as worried as Derek, and considering that Stiles is the only other variable in this situation, the something serious must have happened to him.

He rapidly thinks back to the last thing he can remember, but it’s confusing. The vague memory of pain and snippets of conversation – Deaton’s voice talking about a bite…

“Oh God!” Stiles sits up and paws at the back of his neck, trying to find any possible gaping wounds. Or even just the slightly raised edge of a scar. He feels nothing, but that doesn’t necessarily mean…

“You were bitten,” Derek says, crushing any hope that may have remained. “I’m sorry.”

Derek’s sorry. Again. Though this time it’s not actually his fault. Unless…

“Did you bite me?” Stiles asks. He didn’t think Derek would do it against his will, but maybe if it had been the only way to save him?

“No.” He sounds almost regretful. Stiles feels regretful too. Because if it wasn’t Derek, that means…

“The alpha who bit you is dead,” Scott says, walking closer to the bed. “I killed him.” 

Scott flashes his eyes – alpha red – and Stiles feels an answering glow in his own. He can’t see it, obviously, but once it happens involuntarily, the ability is instinctual. 

Scott jumps back quickly but then closes in again, ducking to get closer to Stiles’s face. “What the hell? Was that-“

“Stiles,” Derek says, interrupting Scott. “Flash your eyes again for me.” 

He does so, watching a look of awe come over Scott’s face, while Derek simply looks like he’s had his suspicions confirmed. 

“They’re orange!” Scott exclaims. 

“They are?” Stiles pushes Derek out of the way so that he can fling off the covers and sit with his feet on the floor. He looks down at his own body, moving his hand to fumble in his pocket for his phone. His phone isn’t there though. Neither are his clothes. “What the hell am I wearing?” 

He looks down to see a well-worn pair of pajama pants blazoned with ‘NYU’ and a sage green t-shirt that’s about a size too big. Most of Stiles’s t-shirts have words or patterns on them, and he knows that he doesn’t own a pair of pants like this. 

“Your clothes were covered in blood, Stiles.” Scott chokes up when he says it, and it hurts Stiles to think what Scott must have gone through. His mind begins to wander – contemplating all the horrible scenarios possible. But when Derek speaks, Stiles is able to focus again.

“The clothes are mine,” he says, handing Stiles his phone. 

With his phone in hand, Stiles opens up the camera app and flips the screen, holding it up to use like a mirror. He flashes his eyes again and, “Holy crap! They’re orange! Like, _orange_ orange, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “It looks like you have flames glowing in your eye sockets. It’s freaky, Dude.”

“So you’re saying that I look like a jack-o-lantern?” 

“Totally!” Stiles finds himself cracking a small grin at Scott’s enthusiasm. It’s got to be better than letting the panic he feels bubble over and spill out of his mouth. 

“You don’t look like a jack-o-lantern,” Derek assures him. A moment later he sits next to Stiles on the bed and puts an arm around him – rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Stiles’s back. 

The touch soothes him instantly and he feels an unfamiliar, audible rumbling in his chest in response. 

“Dude! Are you purring?” Stiles doesn’t have time to give Scott an answer before he hears the front door open and close, and then footsteps coming up the stairs. 

He’s not sure how, but he knows that those footsteps belong to his father, and he must have just gotten home from his double shift. Stiles also knows that he doesn’t want his dad to find Derek in his bedroom at ass o’clock in the morning. So he jumps up and races across the room, cracking the door just enough to speak to his father. 

“Hey, kid. Just wanted to make sure you were- What are you wearing?” 

Stiles retreats further into his room so that his body is hidden, only his face remaining in the crack. “Wearing? Me? Nothing! Well, obviously not _nothing_. I mean, I have clothes on…” 

Stiles’s father gives him a very suspicious look and then pushes on the door, seeking entrance. Stiles almost doesn’t let him pass – his newfound strength could easily keep the door from swinging open – but his enhanced hearing and sense of smell tell him that Derek is already out the window. Scott is sitting on his bed, trying and failing to look innocent. But that’s ok, the sheriff probably won’t mind. 

“Hello, Scott.” The sheriff’s greeting receives a wave and a smile, and then he looks back to Stiles, giving him another curious once over but declining to comment on his clothing again. “You boys have yourselves a sleepover while I was at work?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Stiles begins, simultaneously keeping an ear out for Derek who’s crouched just outside the window, and trying to come up with a plausible lie right on the spot. That’s old hat by now though. What isn’t familiar is the feel of his own heart stuttering over the false words coming out of his mouth. “We were up so late studying that we figured it would just be better for Scott to stay the night. Safer… right, Scott?”

“Yeah, totally.” And there goes his heart too. A little flutter like the wings of a humming bird trapped in a cage. “But Stiles, don’t you think there’s something that you should tell your dad? Something that happened last night…?”

No. No no no no no. Scott does _not_ just expect him have his werewolf coming out party when he barely knows what happened and his dad just got off a double shift. What the hell, Scott?

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Scott. Dad, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” His father puts his hands on his hips and widens his stance – every bit the sheriff right now. “And what would that be, son?”

“Well, Dad… Don’t you think it’s high time that I got a bigger bed?” It’s not exactly a lie. Stiles has been lamenting the diminutive size of his bed for a while now.

“A bigger bed?” his dad repeats. 

“Yeah! I mean, I _barely_ fit in it by myself. How am I supposed to have sleepovers when there’s nowhere for anyone else to sleep?!” Scott gives him a horrified, incredulous look, and Stiles cringes internally at how poor his reasoning probably sounds to his dad. 

And it must sound extremely poor because his father just stares at him for an uncomfortable fifteen seconds and then leaves the room without a word. Stiles can hear him go down the hall and close his bedroom door, but then his full attention is brought to Derek who’s jumping back through the window and seating himself in Stiles’s desk chair. 

“A bigger bed?” Scott asks. 

“Nevermind that now,” Stiles says, flapping his hands. “What the hell happened last night?!” There’s a bathroom situated between the sheriff’s room and his own, but Stiles still tries to keep his voice down. 

Scott proceeds to tell how they had been stopped on the way home and how Stiles had been attacked. It appeared to have been an ambush, because the blind guy wasn’t as blind as they thought, and he was also an alpha werewolf with his alpha pack lying in wait for them. 

He recounts how Stiles had been attacked by a huge, brutish member of the pack. But that Scott didn’t think it was part of their plan. Because the rest of the pack (led by the blind-ish wolf) had attacked the one they called ‘Ennis’ right after he bit Stiles. 

Scott had joined in the fray while Isaac had stayed with Stiles, and Scott had been the one to kill Ennis – gaining his alpha power and intimidating the rest of the alphas into running off. 

From there they had taken him to Deaton’s and later his own home to wait out the change. 

“So I don’t have an alpha?” he asks then, because if the Ennis guy turned him, but Ennis is dead…

“No,” Derek tells him. “You get to choose.”

Stiles can tell by Scott’s smile that he fully expects Stiles to pick him. And now that Scott’s an alpha and Stiles is a wolf, Scott’s pack in spirit can become Scott’s pack officially – if only Stiles chooses him. 

And he should, shouldn’t he? Scott’s his best friend – they’re closer than anyone. But Stiles can’t help but hold back from completely giving over to him. He thinks it must be instinct, because the thought alone makes him gravitate towards Derek – the born wolf’s scent somehow more warm and inviting than Scott’s. 

“And what about the orange eyeballs thing?” he says to change the subject. “Is that something you’ve seen before, Derek?” 

“It’s because of your spark.” 

“I’m sorry, my what now?” He doesn’t know whether that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. 

“Your spark,” Derek repeats. Stiles just looks at him blankly, obviously confused. “Remember when you put down the mountain ash barrier outside the rave?” 

Scott looks like a lightbulb just went on over his head. “Oh! And Deaton said something about you being a-“

“Spark, yeah, I remember. I thought he was just being metaphorical.” 

“He wasn’t, Stiles.” Derek runs his fingers through his raven hair and for the first time, Stiles realizes how mussed up it looks – like maybe that wasn’t the first time he had done that in the past twelve hours. “You have a natural spark – an inborn ability to perform magic, though to what degree, no one knows. And becoming a wolf will have affected your ability, but again, to what degree, no one knows.”

“So besides the flaming eyeballs, are there any other differences between me and other wolves? You know, besides the bibbity bobbity boo?” Stiles asks, waving his hands around. 

Derek seems to consider his question for a few moments, but eventually he speaks. “You may have more control over the shift than most new wolves.” Oh, well that’s a plus, he guesses. 

Stiles is about to ask if there’s anything else when the alarm he has set on his phone to tell him he’s got half an hour to get to school goes off. 

“Shit. We’ve got our chem final in half an hour, Scott. Do you need a ride to school?” Stiles walks over to his dresser to find a clean set of clothes while Scott and Derek speak at the same time.

Scott says, “No, I’ve still got my mom’s car.” While Derek cuts across with, “You’re riding to school with me.” 

Stiles rounds on Derek, feeling his ire rise and his eyes flash as he clutches a t-shirt in his grip – the first feel of claws sprouting from the tips of his fingers. “They’ve already turned me into a werewolf – _Jesus…_ I’m a _werewolf_ … I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” He pushes down the insipient panic once again. “What else could they do to me, Derek?!”

“You don’t want to know, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is soft but Stiles wishes that he would yell. The new wolf can feel his fangs itching to descend, and he wants to snap and growl – only wishing that the alpha would give him a reason. As it is, he has dropped the shirt and is stalking slowly towards Derek. 

“This is what _more_ control looks like?” he hears Scott ask, sounding uneasy. 

Derek doesn’t answer. What he _does_ do is flash his alpha red eyes and growls – quickly putting himself into Stiles’s bubble of personal space. 

Stiles considers being defiant – the reckless urge to challenge the alpha thrumming in his veins. 

But in the end he submits. He turns his head to bare his neck to Derek, and the alpha holds him firmly by the throat while running his fangs teasingly over Stiles’s pulse point. It’s _absolutely_ the worst possible time for an erection, but Stiles’s dick is a reckless bastard that does whatever the fuck it wants – without a whole lot of input from Stiles himself. So when what must be the scent of arousal hits the air around them, Stiles just closes his eyes and focuses on controlling the shift. 

It’s difficult and makes him squirm and pant, and Derek responds by sliding an arm around his waist and pulling their bodies flush. Which does absolutely nothing to help his campaign for plausible deniability – seeing as how Stiles’s hard dick is now nestling tightly against Derek’s hip. 

He whimpers and rocks his body forward instinctually, and Derek’s growl gets louder while his arm gets tighter. Stiles’s arousal is obvious, but the one thing Derek doesn’t do is let go. 

“Dudes! What are you doing?!” Scott’s voice is shrill. It’s also just about the last thing Stiles cares about right now. _Dear Lord_ Derek smells good. Stiles wants to get his mouth on him. “We need to get to school, Stiles! Do I need to get the hose?!”

Derek sighs loudly and pulls back, prompting a whine that Stiles can’t help but escape his throat. 

“Scott’s right,” Derek says, and holy shit! Did Scott and Derek just agree on something?! “Finish getting ready. I’ll be waiting outside.” Stiles wants to argue, he really does. But it feels so much better to just do what Derek tells him to do. 

A firm squeeze to the back of his neck calms him further, and Stiles sees Scott and Derek share a look – an unspoken communication that Stiles can’t quite decipher before they leave Stiles to himself, Scott taking the stairs down while Derek jumps out the window. 

Stiles makes his way to the bathroom and jumps into the shower – quickly washing his hair and body and feeling all over for any hint that he’s now a completely different person… sort of. The muscles of his arms and torso are noticeably more defined, but other than that he thinks that he at least _looks_ the same. 

After he dries himself off he dries off the mirror as well, so that he can look at his reflection. The angles of his face are a little bit sharper, but nothing that a sudden growth spurt wouldn’t account for. Besides, his dad’s been working so much that he probably won’t even think there’s anything out of the ordinary. 

Oh God… his dad…

A strangled sob escapes Stiles’s mouth and he sees his eyes flash in the mirror. Scrunching them shut he slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle further sobs, and he does his best to calm himself. 

He can’t believe that this happened to him. Well, of course he can believe it – Sometimes Stiles feels as if his life is just one terrible thing after the next. But this… this isn’t going to be something that he can keep from his dad forever. He’s going to have to tell him about all of it and his dad is going to be so disappointed.

He lets himself cry for another minute before splashing cold water on his face and doing deep breathing exercises. He brushes his teeth and gets dressed quickly – grabbing his backpack and his shoes from his room.

He detours to his father’s bedroom door and halts there, his hand poised to knock. Maybe he should just come clean right away. The longer he waits, the more that could go wrong in the meantime.

It hurts… it hurts so much, but he lowers his hand and makes his way silently down the stairs and right out the door. He can’t bring himself to do it yet. Telling his dad will have to wait. 

He should probably grab something to eat, maybe some coffee, but he doesn’t. 

He remembers suddenly that he hasn’t taken his medicine, but then he realizes that it probably doesn’t matter anymore. He knows that he still has ADHD – the change can’t heal something that isn’t an injury or a disease. But with the rapid metabolism he now possesses, he’s almost sure that the drugs won’t help. 

When he slides into the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro, the alpha hands him a protein bar and a sports drink, and waits until Stiles fastens his seatbelt before he pulls away from the curb. He hadn’t parked too close to Stiles’s house, but he’s still surprised that his dad hadn’t noticed the familiar car. 

Both Stiles’s Jeep and Melissa’s car are gone already, which Stiles asks about.

“My betas were already standing guard outside your house. They took your Jeep and Scott said that he had to swing by his house first,” Derek tells him. Stiles nods and takes a sip from the drink, wondering if he’ll be able to force himself to eat. His nerves are still eating away at his guts, even though he’s trying not to show it. It’s probably a lost cause though… “I’ll keep you safe, Stiles… I promise.”

Stiles laughs. He can’t help it. “You’ll keep me safe?!” he says incredulously. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”

Derek tightens his hands on the steering wheel and his scent turns acrid with anger. “I didn’t know, alright?! I thought they were here for me! I thought they wanted me to join their pack!”

“So you _did_ know more than you were telling me.” Stiles says. Of course he did. It’s another stab to his heart to know that Derek is _still_ keeping things from him and he wonders if that will change now that he’s a wolf. Well, at least it will be harder for Derek to outright lie to him. “I can hear your heartbeat now so don’t even bother trying to lie to me.”

Stiles angrily shoves the protein bar into his backpack – maybe he’ll be hungry later – and slumps down into his seat to stare out the window as the car follows the familiar path to Beacon Hills High School. 

“I couldn’t tell you,” Derek says quietly. “You weren’t pack.”

“And now?” Stiles asks. They pull into the school parking lot and Derek parks near the entrance before shutting off the ignition and turning in his seat to face Stiles (Stiles notices that Derek never bothered to put his own seatbelt on). 

“That all depends on you,” he says eventually. “You have a choice to make.” 

“But he’s my best friend,” Stiles pleads. “He’ll expect me to join his pack. Hell, he probably already considers me to be his.”

“You’re not _his_ ,” Derek says fervently. He leans over the center console and pulls Stiles in close with a hand on his nape. “Not yet.”

Their foreheads rest against one another and Stiles closes his eyes. As if he needs one more thing in his life to feel guilty about. 

Stiles breathes in Derek’s wonderful scent and grieves at the thought of losing it. Derek has been so different the last couple of days – so much more pleasant and encouraging to Stiles that the teen can’t help but want more of the same. Will Derek hate him if he chooses Scott to be his alpha? Will he ignore Stiles? Will he leave?

Stiles hears the five minute warning bell sound and he once again curses the fact that his life is not his own. Well, at least school will be out for the summer and then he’ll have time to deal with everything else. 

“I need some time,” he says, wishing that he didn’t have to go. 

“Ok,” Derek agrees. 

Stiles opens his eyes to meet Derek’s green gaze. It flashes red momentarily, and Stiles can feel the answering shine in his own eyes. And that’s when Derek completes the tiny distance between them and kisses Stiles on the lips. 

The kiss is thorough, but also unbearably sweet, and Stiles can’t help but half-climb over the console to get closer – his eager hands grabbing hold of Derek’s hair to deepen the kiss. 

Another warning bell rings to tell Stiles that he’d better move his ass or he’s going to be late. And he wouldn’t put it past Mr. Harris to fail him for it. 

“Peter and I will be out searching for the alphas today,” Derek tells him. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“Yeah, ok,” Stiles responds, going for nonchalance. “Um, be careful,” he warns then. He wants to say more – wants to talk about what just happened – but he really has to leave. 

Derek just smiles and starts the car up again while Stiles gets out. “Have a good day, Stiles.” 

Stiles can’t find any words to say to that – and Jesus only knows why his ability to babble is failing him right now of all times – so he just slams the car door (a little harder than he had intended) before sprinting up the steps to enter the school. 

He’s definitely got a lot to think about, but right now he has a chemistry final to take.


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh God, oh God, oh holy God…_

“What’s wrong? Your heart is beating out of your chest!” Stiles collapses into his seat next to Scott just as the final bell rings. 

“Derek just kissed me!” Stiles blurts – much too loudly if all the heads snapping in his direction are any indication. 

“Mr. Stilinski…” _Shit… Harris_ – sneaking up on him like the vampire that Stiles is almost sure he is. He’ll have to remember to ask Derek if vampires are real or not. “Pick a different seat,” he orders, no doubt thrilled to separate him and Scott at this most crucial friendship moment. 

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes, casting about for an empty seat. His gaze quickly settles on Danny, who’s moving his backpack off of the chair next to him and motioning with his head for Stiles to join him. 

“Did you just say that Derek kissed you? Like, _Derek Hale_ Derek?” Danny whispers. He sounds concerned, but Stiles can detect some excitement there as well. 

“Well, yeah. He- Wait a minute! How do you know Derek?”

“I don’t,” Danny says, sounding sort of disappointed about it. “Jackson told me some stuff about him.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” _This could be interesting_ , he thinks. 

“Mr. Stilinski!” Vampire or not, Stiles would very much like to stake Harris. “Would you prefer to take this test after school in detention?”

Stiles has to clench his jaw to keep his fangs from descending – and boy is _that_ a new and interesting sensation! He closes his eyes for good measure, as well as balls his hands into fists. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to wolf out for the first time in the middle of chemistry class. 

“What? No witty rejoinder? Of course if you’d prefer, I can choose for you.” Where’s that stake when he needs it? 

Stiles can sense the anxiety pouring off of Scott, and while he appreciates his friend’s worry, all it’s doing right now is creating a feedback loop of anxiousness, which certainly isn’t helping. 

“ _Stiles…_ ” Danny’s quiet voice breaks through the fog of rage that’s quickly threatening to take over, and his hand placed gently on Stiles’s thigh is a grounding point to help bring him back. “ _Are you ok_?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and loosens his jaw before giving Danny a nod and a reassuring smile. The smile then turns into his familiar cocky smirk – as usual trying his best to piss off Harris. What? It’s one of the few simple joys in life. It would take a better man than Stiles to abstain. 

“Right here and now works just fine for me, sir.” Stiles can’t help himself… he truly cannot. Which is why he lets his eyes flash for the barest hint of a second – just long enough for Harris to notice _something_ and flinch back in fear and surprise. 

Scott gives Stiles a scathing look, though if it’s because of his response to Harris or something else, he’s not entirely sure. 

Either way it’s going to have to wait. Harris passes out the exams and then makes a beeline to the relative safety of his desk – which is coincidentally the furthest spot in the room from where Stiles is sitting. Good. And if he stays there this might actually be the most stress-free test that he’s ever taken in this class.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The test is relatively easy. What isn’t easy is getting enough time to talk to Scott before their next class. As it is, Stiles and Scott don’t get a chance to speak again until lunch when they’re sitting alone together.

“You kissed Derek?!” And Stiles really has to give Scott credit for waiting until _after_ slamming his tray down to get that out. It really shows some restraint. 

“First of all – _he_ kissed _me_. And secondly – hell _yes_ I kissed him back. It was amazing, Scott. You have no idea.” Stiles takes a huge bite of chicken and _damn_ does it taste good. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. 

“You know, Stiles…” Lydia’s voice cuts off any response that Scott may have wanted to make. “If you had told me you were gay I could have set you up with someone.” She gives him a contemplative once over. “I guess I should have known, what with how you’ve chased after me for all these years… Classic overcompensation.” 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Stiles informs her. “My zealous appreciation for you has always been genuine.” He winks at her and she preens, even if she does try to make it seem as though she’s highly offended. “It just so happens that I also _appreciate_ exceedingly gorgeous men just as much.” 

“Mmhmm…” She pops a grape in her mouth as Danny decides to join them at the table. 

“And speaking of exceedingly gorgeous men… hey, Danny!” Stiles says as he makes room for Danny next to himself. Danny smiles warmly and greets everyone. 

“Like him…” Lydia says, nodding her head at Danny but speaking to Stiles. “I could have set you up with him.” 

“Don’t waste your time, Lydia. I’ve been barking up that tree for a while now. He’s not having it.” Stiles smiles at Danny again to show him that Stiles doesn’t harbor any ill-will towards him for not responding favorably to any of Stiles’s previous attempts at flirting. 

“Wait… You were serious?” Danny asks, surprised. “I thought you were joking.”

“What?! Of course I was serious! Why wouldn’t you think I was serious?” Stiles can scent the sudden interest coming from Danny, and once again… Damn! This were-sniffer sure does come in handy. It’s almost like being clairvoyant!

“I don’t know,” Danny says, half annoyed, half flirtatious. “Maybe because just about everything you say is dripping in sarcasm?”

“While I do see your point, Danny… no, I was not joking. I was completely serious.” Stiles finishes the chicken tender in one final bite and licks the salt and grease from his fingers – observing Danny watching him intently. 

“Well, in that case I’ll answer your question… Yes, I do find you attractive, Stiles.”

Stiles blushes – he can’t help it. In the course of one day he’s gone from zero admirers to two. It’s quite the heady feeling. 

He also wonders if it’s a wolf thing. He knows that Danny doesn’t know about that, but maybe there’s something about the change that makes him more attractive? It sure seems to have worked that way for Erica. 

And speaking of Erica…

“Move over, Mahealani,” Erica demands. She’s holding her tray like she’s about to dump it over poor Danny’s head while Isaac and Boyd take a seat and start eating their lunch.

“Now, now, Erica,” Stiles scolds. “Don’t be rude. What did Danny ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?”

She looks as though Danny has dishonored her entire family, but eventually she relents and silently goes to sit next to Boyd. Danny just looks confused, which doesn’t really surprise Stiles – everyone likes Danny. It must be strange to find someone who seemingly doesn’t – especially when he hasn’t done anything to offend her… at least not anything that he knows of.

Scott seems surprised that Erica took a command from Stiles so easily, but Stiles isn’t. His brand new werewolf status, while absolutely terrifying to Stiles, has given him a genuine confidence that he’s never felt before. 

This confidence is also what makes him receptive to the appreciative looks and dimpled smiles that Danny continues to throw his way. “So, Stiles…” Danny begins, quietly enough that he probably assumes that most of the rest can’t hear him. “Are you busy this weekend.” 

The whole table obviously hears him though, because they all fall silent and stop eating – waiting with bated breath for Stiles to respond. 

“Oh, well… I’m not sure yet,” he hedges. 

“I’m sure you could make some time, couldn’t you, Stiles?” Scott encourages. His friend looks so hopeful, but Stiles still kind of wants to kick him under the table. With everything else that’s going on, how is he supposed to make a promise like that?

Before he can formulate a response, Isaac decides to put in his two cents, and Stiles begins to wonder when his social life became a matter of public debate. “I don’t think Derek would like that very much.”

Right… Derek… How could he have forgotten Derek? Which makes him think about the kiss again. It also makes him certain that his ADHD is still going strong. He’s learned that he _can_ focus if he tries, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t still be easily distracted. 

“Oh, that’s right,” Danny remembers “This morning you said that Derek kissed you. Are you two dating?”

Lydia looks annoyed beyond belief and says, “Really, Stiles? Why Derek?”

“It was one kiss!” he shouts, feeling the need to defend himself. “I’m not sure what we are,” he says, trying to answer Danny’s question. “He hasn’t really told me what he wants.” 

Scott interjects before anyone else can. “He wants you to join his-“

“Boy band!” Stiles shouts over him. Then he looks at Danny. “Derek is starting a boy band and he wants me to join.” 

Danny gives him an incredulous look but doesn’t really say anything. Stiles hears Boyd snort in amusement though, which is surprising. Stiles wasn’t aware that Boyd ever actually expressed amusement. 

“But is doesn’t matter,” Scott assures Danny. “Stiles is part of my-“

“Boy band,” Stiles reminds him. 

“… _boy band_ ,” Scott reiterates through clenched teeth. “He’s a member of _my_ boy band, and I say he can date whoever he wants.” His last words seem meant for more than just Stiles and Danny. He glares at Derek’s betas while he says it, and then adds for emphasis, “Right, Stiles?”

“Oh, well…” he trails off, not sure what to say. 

“You _are_ a member of my boy band, right, Stiles?”

Stiles wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of hearing Scott say ‘boy band’ so many times like that, but the reality of the situation makes him stifle the urge. How is he going to be honest with Scott without hurting his feelings?

“Well, Scott… I haven’t quite decided who’s boy band I’m going to join.” 

“What?! Why?!” And yep, there’s the hurt. This is so much harder than Stiles had thought… especially since he has the added layer of scent to pile on the guilt. He just wants to make Scott stop smelling like that. 

“Look, Scott… You’re my best friend. You know I love you.” He’d rather be having this conversation in private, but his hand is being forced. “But I just became a w-uh… a _singer_ last night. I need some time to consider my options.”

Danny looks more confused than ever but Lydia just looks huffy. “Jackson wanted to join Derek’s boy band,” she says, stabbing her pasta salad angrily with a fork. And Stiles has been so occupied with other shit that he hadn’t even thought to wonder where Jackson has been. “But noooo… Derek spent _one day_ doing… vocal training with him and decided he would be better off joining a _boy band_ in New York. Didn’t even ask me what he should do before he just up and left.”

“Jackson’s a dick,” Erica reminds her. “Derek didn’t want that kind of negativity in his band.”

“Oh, right,” Scott scoffs. “Because Derek’s such a ray of sunshine all the time.” So now Scott is defending Jackson of all people? What is happening right now??

Erica looks like she’s about to argue but Danny cuts her off and surprises everyone by saying, “Guys… you don’t have to pretend with me, ok?” Then he quiets significantly and elaborates. “I know about werewolves, alright? Jackson told me before he left.” 

And then, just to be annoying apparently, Isaac says, “I bet he didn’t tell you that Stiles is one too, did he?”

“No,” Danny admits. “He didn’t.” And Isaac may have said that to scare Dany off, but it actually appears to do the opposite. Because he graces Stiles with another one of those adorable dimpled smiles, and Stiles can’t help the momentary flash of his eyes which results in a look of awe and a spike of arousal from Danny. 

“It’s a very new development,” Stiles assures him, trying his best to seem as unaffected as possible. 

Lydia doesn’t appear surprised by Isaac’s revelation, though knowing her, Stiles assumes that she already figured it out somehow.

“Fine! Danny knows! All the better, if you ask me,” Scott says. “He’d make a much better boyfriend than Derek, Stiles.”

Stiles slams his teeny, tiny water bottle down on his tray, getting annoyed by Scott’s behavior. “Since when did my life become a season of ‘The Bachelorette’?!”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Stiles!” Scott says with emphasis. “Derek is just using you to get what he wants.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles responds quietly. He can detect the sour turn in his own scent as he thinks about what Scott had just said. Stiles had been so excited about the kiss that he hadn’t really considered that Derek might be using him. No one’s ever wanted to use him like that before. 

But then Scott takes it a step too far… “I bet he’s just pretending to be interested so that he can get you to join his pack. It’s the same thing he did to get Erica to accept the bite,” he reminds Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t want to believe him, but Erica’s shame-faced, downcast look tells him that Scott’s not wrong – at least as far as she’s concerned.

And it hurts. And he can’t help the way that it eats away at his confidence either.

Stiles continues to pick at his food, but his appetite is gone. He also can’t seem to lift his gaze from the table anymore. He just can’t bear to see the looks of pity that he’s sure he’ll find if he does. 

Then he feels Danny’s hand gently squeeze his arm and Stiles hears him being uncharacteristically harsh… to Scott. “Don’t be such an asshole, Scott. I’m sure Derek’s interest is genuine, Stiles. Why wouldn’t it be? You’re awesome.”

And that’s the last straw apparently, because while Danny may be using the exact same words that Stiles uses to describe himself, deep down he’s never really believed it. 

“No, Danny,” he says, getting up and collecting his backpack and his tray. “Scott’s probably right.” He tries to smile but he’s not sure he succeeds. “I guess I’d have to be a fool to think that anyone would want me like that.”

Stiles very pointedly doesn’t look at anyone while he walks away. Not even when Scott shouts, “Stiles! Wait!” No, instead he just disposes of the remains of his lunch and high-tails it out of the cafeteria alone, making his way to the locker room to change into his gym uniform.

Once he gets there he tries to distract himself from self-destructive thoughts by wondering aloud why a gym final is even necessary. And that’s when he smells it…

He can detect the scent of another wolf – one that he hasn’t come across before.

It’s an alpha – that much he can tell, though he’s not sure how he knows this – and it’s close. He thought he was alone, but now he knows that he isn’t.

Stiles can feel a reflexive growl begin to rumble in his chest that he tamps down immediately. If the alpha doesn’t already know where he is, Stiles doesn’t want to give away his position. He also suddenly wishes that he hadn’t already taken his clothes off.

Stiles tip-toes down the length of the lockers in socks and boxers, and then squeaks embarrassingly when he turns the corner and runs right into a guy’s chest. 

“Hello, Stiles,” the alpha says. He’s cute, and much younger than the one member of the pack that Stiles can remember. He also appears to be going for friendly – though Stiles knows better than to accept that at face-value.

“Um… hey… you…” he says, trying to backtrack unobtrusively. If only he can reach his phone… “Sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“Oh, I’m Aiden,” the alpha says, beginning to stalk forward – matching Stiles step for step. “And that’s my brother, Ethan.” 

The alpha points over Stiles’s shoulder with his chin and Stiles spins on his heel, again colliding with an identically muscled chest. 

“Holy identical twins, Batman!” he exclaims, again wishing fervently that he wasn’t practically naked.

His words elicit identical chuckles from the twins, and now Stiles understands why Derek had had a hard time determining how many scent trails he was picking up in the preserve. 

“Can I help you fellas?” Stiles asks, trying to stall for time until Scott and Isaac show up. They share a gym class, so they’ll have to come to the locker room eventually. And besides, even if Stiles could get ahold of Derek, he’d never get there in time to help. 

“Well, Stiles,” Aiden begins. “We have a proposal for you.” 

Stiles feels trapped between the two alphas – not sure what to do or where to put his hands. In the end he decides to feign bravado and crosses his arms over his chest like he’s seen his dad and Derek do so many times. 

“I’m going to warn you right now boys… If the proposal is of the indecent kind, you’d better get in line, because I’ve already got an alpha who would not be very happy about whatever is going down right now.” It’s true enough not to register as a lie, but it doesn’t seem to deter them much. 

“You’ve got more than one, Stiles,” Ethan tells him with a smile. “Deucalion wants you to join our pack.” 

“I thought the asshole who bit me was named Ennis?” He wonders if Deucalion is the alpha with the walking stick. 

“He was,” says Aiden. “But he’s dead now.”

“Deucalion wanted to give you a choice, Stiles,” insists Ethan. “He saw the potential in you and was going to ask you to join us. He still wants that.”

“Yeah? Well, you can tell him that I would have said no to the bite if given a choice, and besides, I already have a pack.”

As soon as it’s out of Stiles’s mouth he knows it was a mistake, because it isn’t true and of course they can tell. 

“Join us, Stiles,” Ethan urges. “We’re down a member and Duke wants you.” 

“We’re stronger than any other pack,” Aiden adds. “A whole pack of alphas – how could we not be?”

“Yeah…” Stiles begins. “Speaking of that…” He flashes his eyes for emphasis and they share an excited look. “I’m obviously not an alpha, so why would you want me in your pack?”

“That could change,” Aiden assures him. And that’s what Stiles was worried about.

He knows that the twins aren’t going to be happy about a refusal, which is why Stiles is very happy when the locker room door opens and Scott and Isaac come stalking in, loud rumbling growls sounding out through their shifted forms. 

“ _Leave_ ,” Scott demands of the twins. But instead of heeding, the alphas grab Stiles and hold him between them – causing Stiles to shift as well. 

Only, he doesn’t just stop with the fangs and the claws and the unfortunate facial hair/weird ass brow situation/super elf ears combo. Oh no… Stiles shifts all the way into a bonafide Wolf – with a capitol W. 

His boxers and socks come off in the process but Stiles doesn’t even notice. All he knows is that one second he’s upright and being held against his will, and the next second he’s standing only as tall as the other boys’ hips and scrabbling around on fucking paws. 

“What the fuck!” he shouts… only, it comes out as a pitiful whine instead. 

He manages to make his way over to his friends – who move to stand in front of him, united in their defense of Stiles. A passing thought tells him that he might actually stand a chance with the twins in this form, but the intensely new sensations of being a _fucking wolf_ causes him to cower instead. 

“It’s ok, Stiles. You’re going to be alright,” he hears Isaac say. Next he feels Isaac’s hand caressing his furry head and he closes his eyes – focusing instead on the scent of familiar wolves where he has his muzzle sort of squeezed between Scott’s and Isaac’s thighs. It’s the scent of pack – or rather what could be pack if he’d only accept it. But Stiles is greedy and he doesn’t want to have to choose between them. Scott as well as Derek and his betas… he wants them all.

“Leave,” Scott demands once more. “I’m not going to tell you again.” 

“Deucalion wants him, Scott,” Aiden says in a very foreboding way. “He said to tell you that if Stiles will join us willingly, only one of you needs to die.” Stiles begins to growl – softly at first, but rising louder with everything Aiden says. “And that’s only because Stiles needs to kill an alpha to gain their status. Derek can be that alpha, Scott. It doesn’t have to be you.” 

Stiles’s growl morphs into a snarl and he barks at both of the twins – pushing forward until he’s halted by Scott with a firm grip on his scruff. The action quells him into sitting back on his haunches and giving the wolfy stink eye to the twins, his growling subdued once more. 

“Just think about it, Stiles,” Ethan says, trying to sound kind, Stiles thinks. Though how he can think that Stiles losing even one more person in his life and then abandoning the rest could ever be anything other than terrible, Stiles cannot fathom. “Deucalion says that you have a little bit of time to make your decision.”

“We’ll let you know when the time is up,” Aiden concludes. And yeah, that sounds super helpful, Stiles thinks. The twins slink out the back exit and then Scott and Isaac are staring down at him, making him feel self-conscious once again. 

“Dude! You’re a wolf!” Scott exclaims, kneeling down to speak with Stiles on his level. “Like, a real wolf! An actual wolf! Can I pet you?”

Stiles looks at Scott with what he hopes is a wolfy bitchface, but the goddamn puppy eyes of his friend are his fucking kryptonite apparently, because Stiles finally relents and bumps his head up into the palm of Scott’s hand – encouraging him to proceed with the petting. 

“This is fucking amazing,” Isaac adds, jockeying for space on Stiles’s head with one hand while using the other to text someone. “Do you think you’ll be able to shift back, Stiles?”

He doesn’t know, honestly. He hadn’t thought about that until right now. Stiles tries to concentrate on shifting but it’s a no-go. The clenching of his muscles during his fruitless attempts just makes him feel sort of constipated. 

“Maybe we should try the shower,” Scott suggests. “It’s helped me to shift back a few times. 

Stiles isn’t looking forward to the shock of water on his brand new fur coat, but he has to admit that it’s not a terrible idea. So the next thing he knows, the sound of the shower running is accompanying the feeling of water cascading down over his head.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head on instinct and the next time he opens his eyes he’s back to being a pale, skinny, almost-seventeen year old human-shaped guy. Also, Boyd and Erica have joined the small, two-person group gaping down at him. 

Stiles tries not to get too stuck on how surreal his life is right now, choosing instead to focus on the biggest understatement he can come up with… “Well,” Stiles says, trying to keep the water out of his eyes while still shielding his manhood. “That was different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a roller coaster of emotion, huh? Sorry about Scott again. Even I wanted to punch him at times. 
> 
> Also, the exciting new circumstance was something that I decided on a whim because I really enjoy it and it sort of just fit into the story well... at least in my head. But I'm also kind of worried that everyone will hate it, so if you are as excited about it as I am, please leave me a comment and let me know! I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And thanks again for all the love! It truly warms my cold, dead heart. <3 <3 <3


	6. Chapter 6

The ‘gym final’ actually just consisted of the students running a mile and recording their times. Coincidentally, running the mile has always been Stiles’s least favorite activity during gym class. Hell, he even preferred the unit of line dancing better than running the mile – awkward silliness and all.

So Stiles is pleasantly surprised when he realizes that he has a newfound appreciation for the activity now that he’s a wolf. 

The strain on his muscles is negligent as he runs at a steady pace – letting some of the other students pass him while they try to show off. 

And Stiles doesn’t have the urge to prove his superior strength and speed. That is, not until Scott and Isaac surpass him with matching smirks. Then all bets are off.

Suddenly Stiles feels his eyes flash in response to the challenge and he picks up speed, surpassing several students with ease. 

Scott and Isaac manage to pass the frontrunners as they round the track for the fourth and final trip, and Stiles just can’t have that. He feels the instinctual urge to shift into his wolf form so that he can outstrip them by leaps and bounds, literally, but obviously that wouldn’t be a good idea.

So instead he just leans into the sprint and pushes his human body to go as fast as he can. He laughs as he speeds past the other wolves and ends up finishing well ahead of everyone else – including Scott and Isaac. 

“Stilinski!” Coach Finstock yells.

“Yeah, Coach?” Stiles asks, hands resting on his knees as he recovers his breath. 

“Where the hell was that speed during the lacrosse season?!”

“Don’t know, Coach. I guess I just hit a growth spurt or something.” Yeah, something like getting bitten by a werewolf and transformed into one himself. Lycanthropy – it’s a hell of a drug.

Scott and Isaac finally show up at the finish line – red-faced and breathing heavily. “Well,” Coach says. “I expect you to join cross-country in the fall to keep up with training. Maybe you’ll even make first line next year. Stranger things have happened… You two! McCall! Lahey! I expect you two to make sure Stilinski here keeps on top of his fitness this summer. Chase him if you have to, just keep him running!”

Isaac gives Stiles an evil grin which does not bode well for him at all. Stiles can’t help but imagine spending his summer being chased by wolves throughout the preserve instead of playing video games with Scott. It’s not a very comforting thought, but maybe given sufficient inducement…

That’s when he detects a familiar scent on the breeze that makes him snap his head in the direction of the bleachers. He sees the familiar leather-clad figure of Derek – hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his standard scowl on his face. 

When Stiles acknowledges him Derek turns and walks back behind the stands, presumably to wait for Stiles to come to him.

“I’ve got a cramp, Coach. I’m gonna go walk it off.” Finstock simply nods. He’s in the process of berating Greenburg for his abysmal running time and isn’t really paying attention to anyone else, so it isn’t difficult to slip behind the bleachers surreptitiously.

Once there he’s accosted by six feet of anxious alpha. Derek grabs him about the waist and pulls him in close – burying his face in Stiles’s neck and breathing deeply.

“Well hello to you too, Sourwolf,” Stiles says flippantly. Derek just growls in response and burrows closer, the sound of his intensive scenting making Stiles wonder if he is in-fact part truffle pig.

Stiles allows the thorough scenting up until Derek licks a long path up the side of Stiles’s neck. That’s when he squirms out of Derek’s hold and puts some space between them. Scott’s words at lunch keep playing over and over again in his head and he’s not sure what to think anymore.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Derek closes the distance between them once again but he doesn’t touch. Stiles must be putting off a sufficient amount of negative scents or something because Derek looks confused as well as concerned.

“Isaac called,” Derek tells him – which makes sense. But the alphas are gone now so Stiles isn’t sure what good Derek being here now could do. “He said that two of the alphas were here and that you performed a full shift.”

“Well, yes. All that is correct, but why are you here now?” Stiles crosses his arms and picks at the hems of his t-shirt sleeves. 

“I’m here to make sure you’re ok, and also to make sure they don’t come back.” Stiles likes to think that he could protect himself, and he probably can to a certain extent. But he can also admit that it feels good to know that there are others who are ready and willing to have his back.

“Oh, well, thanks, I guess.” Stiles shifts from foot to foot, eyes fixed on the ground and not sure what to say next. He thinks that he should maybe inquire about Derek’s knowledge of full-shift werewolves, or possibly ask if Derek had had any luck in locating the rest of the alpha pack. But he doesn’t get a chance to do either because in the next moment, Derek steps in closer again – wrapping one arm about his waist and grasping Stiles’s chin to gently tilt his head up. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, patiently awaiting Stiles’s answer while staring intently into his eyes. It’s a bit overwhelming if you ask Stiles. And honestly, Stiles isn’t even sure how to answer that. 

“Are you just being nice to me to try to get me to join your pack?” And that definitely isn’t what Stiles meant to say – what the fuck, mouth?

“What? Who told you that?” Derek asks, taking a step back again. 

“When did I say someone told me that?” Stiles counters. “Just answer the question, Derek.” 

Derek scoffs, but suspiciously has no actual answer. Instead he turns and begins walking back towards the school. “Come on. Your class is over and I’m taking you back to the loft. Get your stuff and meet me at my car.”

“Sorry, buddy. No can do,” Stiles says. He overtakes Derek when the alpha stops walking to gawk at him. “My dad texted me and said he wants me home after school. Your problems are going to have to wait.”

Derek pulls him to a stop as he passes, allowing his hold to linger. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No.”

“Why not?” 

Stiles can tell that Derek’s frustration level is rising higher and higher with every denial and it puts him on his guard. He’s seen first-hand what happens when Derek gets really frustrated and it never ends well for Stiles. He also realizes that there’s a new instinct prickling at the back of his neck that’s telling him that it’s a very bad idea to deny an alpha wolf anything. 

“I would, ok? I would go with you but my dad is home right now.” 

“So?” Derek asks, as if he has _no idea_ why that would be a very bad idea.

“He’s the fucking sheriff, Derek! He’s not a fool, ok? What reason would I give him when he asks me why I’m getting a ride home from a murder suspect while another murder suspect is driving my Jeep?! Huh? What exactly am I supposed to say?”

“Isaac and I aren’t under suspicion anymore.” And of course that’s what Derek would focus on.

“Do you really think that would matter?” His stomach turns at just the thought of having that conversation with his father. 

“You’re going to have to tell him sometime, Stiles. You’re a wolf now and he needs to know.” 

“I know!” Stiles is well aware that his usual method of dealing with problems by pretending that they don’t exist probably won’t be sustainable for long when it comes to this. That doesn’t mean that he has to like it. “I know, ok? But not today.” 

“Stiles…”

“Not today, Derek!” Stiles feels his eyes flash as he shouts, and is surprised to not see an answering red glow in return. But he’s even more surprised by the feelings of guilt and shame that flare brightly when Derek relaxes his grip and allows his hand to slide down Stiles’s arm to release him. 

“Ok,” Derek whispers, head dropping as he turns to go. He doesn’t look back, not even once, and Stiles feels a yearning to go after him – to beg forgiveness and bare his neck to the alpha who’s rapidly slipping out of sight and then gone. 

He doesn’t though. Instead, Stiles turns back around and makes his way to the locker room, angrily swiping away the wetness from his eyes while trailing far behind the other students. He tries his best to avoid Scott and Isaac in the locker room, but he needs to get his keys back from Isaac and Scott asks for a ride home. 

Once they’re in the Jeep, Stiles fully intends to make the trip in complete silence, but Scott very unhelpfully starts speaking right away. 

“Just drive to your house,” Scott says. “I’ll walk home from there.” 

“Fine.”

“I’d stay and hang out but I have to work.” Stiles doesn’t answer that. Though he does wonder why Scott didn’t take his bike to school that morning if he was planning on heading to Deaton’s. 

Once they’re out of the parking lot and on their way through the streets, Stiles looks in the review mirror and sees that Derek’s Camaro is following them. He’s not being sneaky about it at all and Stiles wonders if that’s deliberate or if Derek just sucks at stealth. 

“Look, Stiles,” Scott begins. Stiles sighs and tries to remind himself that getting upset right now is probably not something that would be very conducive to driving. There’s a reason why actual wolves aren’t allowed to get drivers’ licenses. “I’m really so-“

“Can he hear us right now?” Stiles interrupts. 

“What? Who?” Sure, Scott, like you _don’t_ know that Derek is riding our ass right now. 

“Derek, Scott. You know him – the hot, broody asshole that is definitely not leaving at least one car’s length between him and us.” Scott whips his head around and genuinely looks surprised to see Derek and his betas directly behind them. 

“No, I don’t think he can. Maybe if the cars weren’t moving, or if the windows were open… But I can’t hear them so I doubt they can hear us.” Stiles just nods and remains quiet. Might as well let Scott say what he’s going to say. “Stiles, I’m sorry, alright? It was really shitty of me to say what I said. It’s just… It’s _Derek_ , you know? I don’t trust him.”

“Well I do!” And Stiles hadn’t known that to be true until that very moment. He heard the steadiness of his own heartbeat and he knew that Scott had heard it too. 

“But, why?” Scott asks. 

And why does he? Stiles thinks about it for a moment and finds that it isn’t actually that difficult to explain. “Because he’s a good person, Scott.” And that’s really what it boils down to. “Think about all the shit that he’s been through in his life. How many people do you think could go through all that and still come out of it with any part of what they used to be? I don’t think I could… could you?”

He sees Scott struggle with his answer and as usual focus on the negative. “But he turned four teenagers! And he’s still working with Peter!”

“Those four _asked_ to be turned, Scott. And as far as Peter... well, _you_ were the one who betrayed Derek by working with Gerard-“

“He threatened my mom!”

“I know,” Stiles answers, trying his best to remain calm – something that Scott isn’t succeeding at very well. “But Scott… you, me, Derek… we’re all on the same side here. And when push comes to shove, Derek has always been there for us.” Scott crosses his arms and slumps in his seat like a sullen toddler, and Stiles can see him struggle to find a rebuttal. “Did I ever tell you exactly _why_ I had to hold him up in the pool for over two hours?”

“Because he was paralyzed?” Scott grumbles.

“Yes, but the reason he was paralyzed was because Derek turned his back on the kanima to push _me_ out of the way and tell me to run.” Stiles can see the stubbornness that Scott’s holding onto begin to melt the longer he takes to explain. “He would have had a better chance if he’d let Jackson focus on the weak little human, but instead he put himself in danger to help me survive. Does that sound like someone who’s untrustworthy?” 

“But what about Peter?” Scott asks. 

Stiles pulls into his driveway and watches the Camaro drive past at the same time that he sees a curtain twitch in the front window of his house. He sighs, hoping that his dad didn’t notice that Derek was the one driving, and if he did, that he’ll think it’s just a coincidence that his car was following Stiles’s Jeep. 

“I honestly don’t know why Derek allows Peter to hang around, but think about it, Scott. He’s the only family that Derek has left. And even if you aren’t a born wolf, you’ve got to understand how important pack is, especially to an alpha. Maybe he thinks Peter can be reformed?”

“He killed Derek’s sister! How can he forgive something like that?” Stiles just shrugs. He’s not going to pretend to have all the answers. “And of course I know how important pack is. That’s why I don’t want to lose you to him!” 

Stiles sighs once more, this time in frustration. “You’re not going to lose me, Scott. It’s just that I can’t help what I feel, and what I feel is that I’m drawn to him. It’s not a conscious thought, it’s an instinct.” He huffs and scrubs a hand over his face and through the short spikes of his hair. “I just don’t understand why we can’t all be in the same pack.”

“You can’t have more than one alpha in a pack,” Scott says, like he’s reading from a textbook.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the alpha pack – they seem to be doing just fine.” Scott continues to look disgruntled but Stiles has had enough of this conversation. “Look, my dad’s going to start to worry if I don’t go in soon and you have to go to work. We can talk more later.”

“Fine,” Scott agrees. He doesn’t make any move to leave though – just sits there with his hand on the door handle while he gnaws on his lip and sneaks glances at Stiles. 

“What?” Stiles asks. He thinks he knows what Scott’s current problem is, but best to ask just to be sure.

“Can I…” 

“Just ask, Scott.” 

“Can I scent mark you?” Scott’s cheeks take on a decidedly rosy hue and he refuses to meet Stiles’s eye – the alpha’s embarrassment thick in the close confines of the Jeep. 

Stiles rolls his eyes but acquiesces. “If it will make you feel better, scent away, buddy.” Stiles is instantly dragged half out of his seat by a firm grip on the back of his neck, and he waits patiently while Scott rubs his face all over Stiles’s throat. It feels very different from when Derek does it, but the palpable scent of relieved alpha is very similar. “Alright, alright,” he says eventually. “You got your Scott-stink all over me… Happy now?”

“Not really,” Scott says. “But it will have to do.” They both exit the Jeep and Scott starts moving up the street while Stiles starts up the front steps of his house. 

“You’re welcome!” Stiles shouts sarcastically. Scott gives him a brief wave over his shoulder and Stiles walks into his house, grumbling about annoying alphas and wiping at his neck in an attempt to erase the phantom feeling of Scott all over his throat. 

He rushes up the stairs to put his backpack in his room and stops when he realizes that there’s something different about said room. Everything has been moved around to make way for a full-sized bed that’s been placed in the corner where his single bed had once stood. 

He wars between the newfound urge to rub himself all over it so that it’s bathed in his scent, and the more familiar urge to run downstairs and express his thanks to his dad for getting it for him. Eventually familiarity wins out and he drops his bag and clomps down the stairs to reach the kitchen where he can smell coffee brewing. 

“Finally decided to come say hello?” his dad asks when he arrives. Stiles is confused at first, but then the unfamiliar scent that Stiles had wrongly attributed to the new mattress makes more sense when he sees that there’s a third body in the room with them. 

“Deputy Parrish!” Stiles exclaims. The deputy is just as handsome as Stiles remembers. He’s also dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt that’s clinging to his subtly bulging biceps and muscular chest and Stiles has to remind himself that ogling older men in the company of his father is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid as of late. 

“Stiles,” the deputy begins. “I’ve told you before to call me Jordan. I’m not even on duty right now.” 

“Uh huh…” Stiles is distracted by the sight of Jordan swirling a teaspoon in his coffee mug before he lifts the spoon and sticks it in his mouth – his lips pursed and clinging around the metal while he slowly slides it back out. When he’s done, Stiles’s gaze lifts to see Jordan’s green eyes sparkling with mirth and he has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat. 

Stiles’s dad clears his throat to get his attention, which is when he suddenly remembers why he had rushed down there in the first place. “Oh! Dad! Thank you so much!” He rushes over and unceremoniously gathers his father into his arms in a warm hug, subtly breathing in his comforting scent before stepping back again. “Why didn’t you wait for me though? I could have helped.”

“Why do you think Deputy Parrish is here?” his father asks. “We both had the day off and nothing better to do, so he brought his truck and we got it done in an hour.” Stiles hadn’t even noticed a truck outside – it seems Scott isn’t the only wolf that needs to up their observational skills. 

“Oh, well thank you too then, Dep-“ Jordan gives him a Look that has Stiles quickly changing gears. “…I mean, Jordan. You didn’t have to do that. You probably had better things to do with your day.” 

“Not really,” he says, giving Stiles a very obvious smile. “Besides, the sheriff here offered to buy me dinner if I helped.” And Stiles might actually believe that excuse if he wasn’t able to scent the subtle interest coming from him that Stiles had only ever guessed at before. He knew that Jordan liked to joke around with him whenever he ran into him at the station or out about town, but he had never really believed that the man was flirting… even if Stiles had often wished that were the case. 

“He did, did he?” Stiles asks, sounding suspicious. “And what exactly did he say he’d be feeding you?” 

“Pizza,” Jordan says enthusiastically, and it’s just as Stiles had suspected. 

“You’re getting veggies on yours,” Stiles threatens his father – finger wagging in his direction and everything. 

 

When the pizzas finally arrive, the three of them are in the living room watching a baseball game on the television and laughing at embarrassing anecdotes all around. The sheriff has an endless amount of dirt on Stiles, but Stiles is highly amused to find out that Jordan has a fair amount of stories about the sheriff as well. 

“Remind me, Stiles,” Jordan asks when the sheriff gets up to use the bathroom. “Are you graduating this year?” Stiles just barely manages to hold back a snort at the deputy’s not-so-subtle way of asking if Stiles is eighteen yet.

“Nope. Not yet. My birthday is coming up though.” 

“Your eighteenth birthday?” Jordan asks hopefully. 

“Seventeenth,” Stiles replies, watching the disappointment that flashes over his face. 

“But, you know, I’m an old soul or something like that.” Jordan gives him an unamused look coupled with a wry smile – it’s really a sight to behold. “Ok, maybe I’m not. But I’ll bet most people my age haven’t been through even a fraction of the shit I’ve been through.” 

Which may be true, but Stiles can’t exactly explain all the shit he’s been through, so he’s happy to hear his dad coming back down the stairs before Jordan can let loose the curiosity that Stiles can see in his eyes. 

“Stiles, what have I told you about leaving your bedroom window open? It’s starting to rain.” And Stiles didn’t leave his window open, so that could only mean that he has an uninvited visitor waiting for him upstairs. 

He focuses his listening and can just barely hear the steady _thump-thump_ of a fourth heartbeat, but no additional scents are making their way down so Stiles can only guess which wolf has dropped by for a cup of tea and a bit of chat... or much more likely a spot of pushing Stiles up against walls and a heaping helping of threatening glares. 

“Oh, well, Jordan reminded me that I’ve got some studying to do for my last day of finals tomorrow so I think I’ll turn in.” He gets up and goes to clear the coffee table but his dad just waves him off. “Thanks again for the new bed, Dad. Jordan, it was good to see you again. And thanks for helping my dad. I really appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Stiles. Good luck on your tests tomorrow.” Stiles gives an awkward salute like the true dork that his is, and then he leaves the men to their baseball and beers and goes up to face the furry music. 

“You know, Derek,” Stiles begins as he’s walking through his bedroom door. “Telling you that I couldn’t go to the loft today was not an invitation for you to-“ Stiles stops in his tracks when instead of the hot, brooding asshole he’s expecting to see, there’s a large, black wolf making himself at home on Stiles’s brand new bed. Stiles closes and locks the door quietly behind him. “If you get any dirt on my new bed, I’ll…” He can’t really think of a sufficient threat. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but you get the point.”

When he walks close enough, Derek lunges forward and bites onto the hem of Stiles’s shirt and drags him down onto the bed. He lands awkwardly on his hands and knees, half on top of Derek. Then in the next blink their positions are reversed – Stiles lies on his back and looks up into those familiar green eyes before the wolf’s muzzle is unceremoniously shoved into Stiles’s throat.

“I’ve got to say, Derek, this scenting shtick is getting kind of old.” The wolf surprises him by abandoning his throat and sticking his nose in Stiles’s armpit, causing him to yelp with how much it tickles. Which he belatedly realizes might cause his father to come check on him, so he puts Derek in a head lock to hold him still while he listens for sounds of movement on the stairs. 

No sound comes so he reluctantly lets Derek go. Of course he immediately regrets that when Derek proceeds to nose his way further down, eventually ending up with his muzzle jammed between Stiles’s thighs and his nose pushing up beneath his balls. 

“Jesus Christ, Derek!” He shouts, trying and failing to push the wolf’s black head away from his crotch. And oh shit, that is definitely footsteps that he hears racing up the stairs now. Stiles dares to use his new strength to knock Derek off the bed and then he follows him over, landing in a heap on the floor. “ _Get under the bed!_ he whispers, shoving at Derek’s furry hindquarters. 

Derek growls but also complies, and Stiles gets to the door just as his dad knocks on it. 

“Hey, Dad!” he says, trying to block the sheriff’s entrance to the room. “What’s up?”

“We heard you shouting,” he says. Derek growls from underneath the bed and it’s even loud enough for the sheriff to hear. “What was that?” He tries to push his way through but Stiles holds his ground this time.

“What was what?”

“That growling noise,” he says as though it’s painfully obvious. “Do you have a dog in there?!” 

Stiles just manages to hold in the laughter when Derek makes a noise like he’s highly offended – and how Stiles can tell will probably remain a mystery for the ages. 

“A dog? In here?” He laughs incredulously, though it has a tinge of mania dusting the rim. “Of course not! That was just… an Animal Planet documentary that I’m watching on my laptop.”

“A documentary?” his dad asks. Stiles nods. “And the shout?”

“Oh, uh… well… Dad… that was just me showing enthusiasm for my favorite animal.” Wow… in the history of terrible excuses, that one has to be in the top ten.

“Which is?”

“The wolf.” 

“The wolf?”

“Yes… the wolf. Love those wolves…” He trails off and rocks back and forth on his feet, casting his gaze around the hallway and conspicuously _not_ looking at his father. “Eatin’ all those little bunnies… sleeping in dens…” 

The sheriff just stares at him for thirty seconds straight, not saying a word, until finally he whispers, “Stiles, what you get up to in here on your own is your own business.” Stiles feels his face start to heat and continues to avoid that fatherly gaze. “But couldn’t you have waited until Deputy Parrish left? The game’s almost over, son.” 

And while Stiles would love to correct his father so as to retain even a little bit of dignity, that would require either telling the truth – which, uh, no – or, coming up with an even better lie on the spot. And since neither one of those options are even remotely doable, he sucks it up a takes one for the metaphorical team.

“Yeah… sorry about that, Dad,” he says. The contrition is feigned, but his scarlet face surely isn’t. “I’ll uh, try to keep it down in the future.” What else is he supposed to say? His dad would never believe him if he were to say he’d never do it again. 

“I guess that’s the best I could hope for,” his dad responds depressingly, which… rude. “And keep the volume down on your _documentary_. With your tendency to leave the window open, I don’t want to be getting noise complaints from the neighbors.” 

“Jesus, Dad, it wasn’t _that_ loud.” An ‘end of his rope’ head shake is all Stiles gets in response before his dad turns and goes back downstairs. 

When closed and locked once more, Stiles turns to see Derek wiggling out from under the bed on his furry wolf belly and that’s when he just can’t possibly hold back the laughter anymore. He does his best to keep it to a half-stifled giggle, but he does let out one completely undignified squawk when Derek jumps up and knocks them both to the ground.

Stiles laughs heartily for several seconds, but he eventually settles down. Derek drops his bulk down on top of Stiles and lays his head on Stiles’s chest, staring up at him like Stiles should just know what he’s thinking. 

“I know that you’re not a big talker, Derek. But if I’m going to even attempt to wheedle out your usual grunts and sour looks, you’re probably going to have to shift.” He reaches up and pets Derek’s head, causing the alpha to close his eyes and sigh. “You’re also going to crush me to death if you don’t get off of me soon.”

Derek rolls his wolfy eyes – actually rolls his fucking eyes – but gets up, thankfully avoiding jamming a paw in Stiles’s junk on the way. And then he shifts. And _then_ Stiles remembers the nakedness factor of shifting from full wolf back to human. 

Luckily, he notices Derek’s clothes on his desk chair and tosses them to him while focusing solely on the ceiling and _not_ on Derek’s spectacular ass… ok, maybe not _solely_ …

“Would it do _any_ good at all to ask you what you’re doing here?” Stiles wonders out loud, still lying on the floor. “Also, since when the hell have you been able to do a full shift?”

“Since I became an alpha,” Derek says. “My mom could do it… Laura could do it. I think it’s hereditary.” 

Stiles sits up and gapes at him. “Does that mean we’re related?!” 

Derek chuckles. Like, for really real chuckles. “No, we’re not related. It’s pretty rare, but the Hales weren’t the only family that carried the trait.” 

“That carry the trait,” Stiles corrects.

“What?”

“You said ‘carried’ but not all the Hales are gone, Derek. You’re still here.” Derek sits next to him, still shirtless, and doesn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t want to think about it, or maybe he just doesn’t want to argue, and maybe it’s something else completely. 

But whatever the reason, Derek apparently knows well how to avoid talking about things that he doesn’t want to talk about because one minute Stiles is wondering if this is finally the time when Derek Sulkmaster Hale is going to come out of his shell and share his deep-seated man-pain, and the next he’s being kissed within an inch of his life on his dusty bedroom floor. 

“Derek…” Stiles allows himself to be guided down to lie on his back, and it’s truly amazing how quickly the alpha can make him forget absolutely everything else besides the feel of Derek’s hands on his body. Even his usual habit of babbling ad infinitum deserts him when Derek slides one muscular thigh between Stiles’s legs and slowly thrusts their hips together. 

“What? Now you have nothing to say, pup?” Derek asks. And oh, sweet Lord Jesus… Stiles thinks that he might actually die if Derek turns out to have some heretofore unknown affinity for dirty talk. Hell, any talk at all from Derek when they’re pressed up close like this would be fan-fucking-tastic. 

“ _Derek_ …” Derek slides Stiles’s t-shirt up and over his head before tossing it aside and then he bends down to lick a path from Stiles’s navel right up to his neck. Stiles’s hips jerk in response and the resulting friction on his cock is sheer bliss. It makes him moan, but actual words are still pretty far beyond him. 

“Is that all you have to say?” He tweaks Stiles’s nipple, which makes him gasp and writhe. “I want to hear you, Stiles.” 

And Stiles would love to oblige, he really would. But he fears that if he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and his dad already warned him once about the noise level. “We’re not alone here, remember? Do you _want_ my dad to find you here?” 

“No,” Derek answers simply. He leans down again and latches his mouth onto the same nipple and sucks, and Stiles moans – he just can’t help it. Derek lifts his head and the sun comes out in the form of his beautiful smile. Then he licks his lips like a wolf licking its chops and begins to trail a path of little nips and sucking kisses all the way down Stiles’s torso.

When he doesn’t stop at Stiles’s jeans – just keeps going lower until he’s mouthing around firm ridge of Stiles’s erection – Stiles loses his battle with control and starts up a litany of moans and whines, interspersed with colorful swear words and shallow panting. This seems to please Derek, if the rumbling growl emanating from his chest is any indication.

“Shit… fuck… oh my God, Derek!” Stiles can feel his cheeks flush with the pleasure and soon the heat spreads down across his heaving chest. “ _Please…_ ” 

“Please what, Stiles?” Derek strokes a hand over the bulge in Stiles’s jeans – a teasingly light pressure that’s almost more annoying than pleasurable, and Stiles wants some skin-on-skin more than anything in the world right now. 

“Touch me! Please, Derek, _please…_ ” 

Derek pops the button on Stiles’s jeans and slowly pulls the zipper down – sucking a bruise on Stiles’s throat that he knows won’t last very long, regardless of how thorough Derek is being – and then he kneels back so that he can yank Stiles’s pants down and off, boxers and all. 

He stays in that position – sitting back on his heels – and takes a moment just to admire the sight of Stiles’s naked body. 

The change has firmed up the lithe muscles that he’s always had due to a fairly active lifestyle, but there’s still an unfamiliar softness to his midsection that Stiles doesn’t really remember being there before – a very subtle rounding of his hips and thighs that he’s not quite sure how to feel about at the moment. 

Though the rock hard cock that’s standing proudly smack dab in the middle of that midsection tells him that whatever it is, he can wait and think about it later. 

Eventually Derek stretches his hands forward, but when he finally touches Stiles, it’s a firm grip on his hips instead of his cock, and then those hands slide down Stiles’s thighs and end up cupping the backs of his knees. 

“Is this where you wanted me to touch you?” Derek asks, squeezing lightly. 

Stiles gasps and moans and cants his hips, and he watches as a fat drop of precome pulses down his shaft. Jesus, how did he not know that he was so sensitive there? But then his brain catches up with his dick and he suddenly remembers that no, that’s actually not the place that he had in mind. 

“Higher,” he hints, trying his damnedest not to let his claws pop out and his fangs descend. He’s already lost the fight with his eyes – he can feel them glowing brightly as if to match the feel of fire crackling warmly in his belly. 

Derek smirks and lets his hands caress up his sensitive inner thighs – all the way up until they’re rubbing his groin, his hands just skirting Stiles’s cock and balls. 

“Is this the place, Stiles?” Derek asks. 

Stiles doesn’t answer. All he can do is spread his legs and thrust his hips. The exquisite tease is almost as good as what he really wants. That is, until Derek finally licks his own hand and then wraps it around Stiles’s dick. He gives it a few light tugs to spread around the combined wetness and Stiles can’t see how anything could feel better than having Derek’s hand on him like that. 

“That’s it! Oh, Derek, yes! There, there… right there!” After his outburst, Stiles shoves the base of his thumb into his mouth to stifle his cries, mentally kicking himself for being so loud. 

“There we go,” Derek says soothingly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, pup?” 

Bad? _bad_? Stiles kind of wants to kick Derek for sounding so condescending, but that will have to wait because Derek is jerking him off right now and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. 

“Oh, God, Derek it feels so good.” Derek bends his head and adds more saliva to the tip of Stiles’s cock – the added slickness easing the glide of Derek’s fist. “Faster, Derek,” Stiles pleads. “Go f-faster.” 

Derek speeds up his rhythm and begins tugging on Stiles’s nipple. It’s a delicious kind of torture that’s quickly hurdling Stiles towards orgasm, and Derek – the bastard – can tell. 

“Are you going to come, Stiles? Hm? Are you going to come for me?” 

Stiles doesn’t realize that he’s answering until Derek growls and starts sucking on his throat again. That’s when Stiles finally pays attention to the words coming out of his mouth… “Yes, Alpha… gonna come… For you, Alpha… gonna come for you…” 

Stiles loses himself again for at least a few moments when he comes, because the next time he looks down, Derek has his own pants shoved down his thighs and he’s furiously jerking himself off with one hand while rubbing Stiles’s come into Stiles’s skin with the other. 

It’s a glorious sight – and wow, that is an absolutely ideal dick right there – and it isn’t long before Derek bites back a moan while adding his own release to the mess on Stiles’s stomach and groin. It’s filthy, but Stiles loves it – can’t get enough of how their scents mix together into something perfect that makes his instincts buzz.

 

“I can’t believe that we didn’t even make it to the bed,” Stiles says about a minute later, while Derek is lying next to him and finger painting Stiles’s stomach with their combined come. Again, Stiles thinks he should be completely grossed out, but all he really wants to do is purr… and maybe take a nap. “Perfectly good, brand new bed and we couldn’t even-“

A hesitant knock interrupts their post-coital glow, causing Stiles heart to leap into his throat and his hand to flail out and slap Derek in the face. 

He barely manages to shout, “Just a minute!” before throwing some clothes on at warp speed – muttering under his breath about alphas that have death wishes, and hoping that Derek can manage to hide himself, or haul ass out the window, or something so that he won’t get an ass full of lead when Stiles’s dad finds him there. 

When he finally opens the door, he’s pleasantly surprised to find Deputy Parrish on the other side, and not the sheriff. Though when he glances down at himself and notices that he has on Derek’s too-big t-shirt, and that said t-shirt is poking out of his un-zipped jeans… Stiles is somewhat less relieved and definitely more embarrassed. 

He’s also well aware that he absolutely _reeks_ of sex, which causes him to mentally plan all the ways he’s going to kill Derek while he tries and fails to discretely cover his junk and plaster on a terrified smile. “Hey, Jordan… What’s up?”

“Uh… Your dad got called in over some sort of paperwork issue,” Jordan says. “He told me to go ahead and finish watching the game, but it’s over now.” Stiles nods along like a bobble head until Jordan says, “Before I left I just thought I’d ask if you needed any help studying.”

“Oh.” Stiles can tell that by ‘studying’ Jordan at least partially means definitely not studying at all. And while any other time Stiles would totally be on board with that, there’s a very definite growl sounding from within his bedroom to remind him that the deputy might end up with his throat ripped out if he doesn’t shut this shit down right here and now. “That’s really kind of you Jordan, but I think I’m just going to take a shower and turn in early tonight. A good night’s sleep will probably help me more than anything, you know?”

He fakes a yawn before quickly remembering the state of his crotch. Jordan follows the movement and quickly shakes off the distraction before answering. “Yes, absolutely. That’s probably for the best.” He starts to back up towards the stairs. “I’ve got some stuff I need to get to at home anyway… Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight!” Stiles waits until he hears the front door shut before her whirls around glares at Derek, who’s lying naked on Stiles’s bed. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” Derek accuses. 

“You knew that my dad was gone and Jordan was downstairs,” Stiles accuses in return. “Didn’t you?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you weren’t using all of your senses. You should have heard him leave too.” 

“Excuse me if I was just a little bit distracted, you ass!” Stiles pulls his clothes off and throws them around the room haphazardly before joining Derek on the bed. “Now Jordan thinks I’m some sort of deviant exhibitionist who likes to loudly masturbate with my father in the house.” 

Derek maneuvers them underneath the covers and rolls them over so that Stiles is cocooned between Derek and the wall. “I don’t care what he thinks, as long as he thinks that you’re not interested.” 

Derek goes in for a kiss but Stiles turns his head in denial. “So that’s why you wanted me to be loud?!” he asks incredulously. 

“No,” Derek answers. “That was just a bonus.” 

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes, but eventually gives in and allows Derek to kiss him. It feels so good to be touching like this that Stiles doesn’t want to think about anything else. 

“I’m not being nice to you just to get you to join my pack.”

Derek’s words take a few seconds to sink in. “What?”

“You asked me earlier if I was only being nice to you to get you to join my pack.” Oh yeah, he did ask that, didn’t he? “I do want you in my pack, Stiles… but even if you don’t… I still want you in my life.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, full of hope.

“Really.” Stiles smiles and snuggles down into Derek’s chest. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to convince you,” Derek promises. The thought makes a warmth flare brightly in Stiles’s chest and he thinks that if everything Derek does to try to convince him makes him feel like he felt tonight, well then…

“Bring it on, Sourwolf.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that a little Derek POV might be nice, so here you go...

_”You won’t feel like this forever, Derek.”_

_”But it hurts, Mom… it hurts so much…”_

_Derek feels gentle fingers caress lovingly through his hair as he sobs into his mother’s lap._

_”I was going to bond with her, Mom. I was going to ask her to be my mate. But instead I killed her… I killed her! I don’t deserve to feel better. It should have been me instead…”_

_”Derek, sweetheart… what happened to Paige was not your fault. And even if you had wanted to, there was no way that you could have sacrificed yourself to save her. You did the only thing that you could… You gave her mercy.”_

_”It should have been me… It should always have been me…”_

 

Derek wakes suddenly with the muffled sound of a closing door. He sits up and scans the room quickly, looking for danger.

“My dad’s home,” Stiles say quietly from his position at his desk. He’s dressed and scrolling through something on his laptop. “He just went to bed,” he adds. “I’m actually surprised that you didn’t wake up sooner – he’s been clomping around the house for almost an hour.” 

“I must have been sleeping really deeply.” _I must have felt safe,_ is what he thinks to himself. In a comfortable bed with Stiles in his arms and the new wolf’s scent all around him, Derek had slept better than he has in years. 

“Yeah? Well we’re lucky that I wasn’t. He came up here to check on me as soon as he got home.” Derek starts at the thought of being found naked in bed with the sheriff’s underage son. Shit… he has got to be more careful. “Luckily I was able to get dressed and go out in the hall before he had a chance to knock.”

Derek begins to pull his clothes back on as quietly as possible. “What are you doing?” he asks, pointing his chin towards the laptop screen. 

“Oh! I figured that since I can’t look through the Hale bestiary without Uncle Creepy standing over my shoulder, I would do the next best thing.” He leans back so that Derek can see the screen more clearly. 

“Is that the Argents’ bestiary?”

“Yep! I saved a copy of it to my laptop after our second date.”

It takes a few seconds for Stiles’s words to register and when they do Derek asks, “Second date?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers. “You know, when we went swimming.” And if Stiles thinks that treading water with Derek’s dead weight for two hours constitutes a date… “Which I actually preferred to our first date, by the way.” Stiles adds. And Derek is afraid to even ask, but it isn’t necessary because Stiles continues. “Because you know, just for future reference… puking up black goo and demanding that I cut your arm off is a terrible way to woo me.”

Derek doesn’t know what possesses him, but before he can stop himself he says, “It seems to have worked out pretty well actually,” to which Stiles responds with an extremely irritated look, but notably has no actual contradiction to Derek’s proclamation. And Derek just smirks, because that’s exactly what he thought. “Have you found anything yet?”

“No.” Stiles rubs his hands roughly over the short spikes of his hair in frustration. “Nothing about sparkwolves either.” 

“What wolves?” Derek asks. His palms itch to mimic Stiles’s movement like they usually do, and for the first time Derek realizes that he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. He doesn’t have to limit himself to rough shoving and intimidation when he has the urge to touch Stiles. 

So he reaches out and rubs his hand over Stiles’s fuzzy head, focusing on the unique feel of his buzz cut. It’s interesting – it’s soft and sort of tickles, but still leaves the skin of his palm tingling. He likes it, but at the same time he kind of wishes that Stiles would grow it out a little. It would be nice to be able to grab it while they-

“Sparkwolves,” Stiles repeats, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. “Like me, you know? Part spark, part wolf… sparkwolf.” 

“Oh.” Derek moves his hand over and down to the back of Stiles’s neck – rubbing out the kinks and spreading his scent around as he goes.

“I had to do something though,” Stiles says, squirming around in his seat and shaking out his hands. “I’ve been restless like woah ever since I woke up.” 

“Are you ok?” Derek asks, genuinely concerned.

“I think so.” He answers. “It might just be my ADHD, but the Adderall doesn’t work anymore because of the increased metabolism. I tried taking it this morning just to see what would happen, but I felt exactly the same as before I took it so…” He shrugs, accepting his fate. “I think I’m going to have to come up with some new coping mechanisms if I don’t want to start failing all my classes next year.” 

Derek thinks about Stiles’s predicament and asks, “Would it help if you worked off some of the excess energy?”

Stiles turns to look up at him, dislodging Derek’s hand as he does so. “What did you have in mind,” he asks, waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculously exaggerated fashion. 

And while there are many, many things that Derek would like to suggest, most of them will have to wait because he doesn’t want to press his luck with the sheriff anymore right now. So instead he says, “Follow me,” and leads Stiles to the window. 

It must have stopped raining a while ago but the roof tiles are still wet, so they’re going to have to be careful. Derek ducks out and onto the roof overhang and beckons Stiles to follow him. 

“Are you morally opposed to using doors, Derek?” Stiles asks. He doesn’t hesitate though, and Derek has the feeling that this isn’t the first time that Stiles has climbed out of this particular window… or several others for that matter. 

Derek jumps down first, then watches as Stiles follows. He’s surprisingly graceful in his execution, and when he straightens up from his crouch, Derek yanks him forward and kisses him. 

Ever since Stiles was turned, Derek has been doing his best to keep his enthusiasm in check. But sometimes he can’t help himself. Stiles as a wolf is everything that Derek has been dreaming of since the first moment he laid eyes on the kid that first time in the preserve. 

He hadn’t dared to hope for it… not after what happened with Paige. But now that it has happened, Derek couldn’t be happier – even if he doesn’t want to admit it… even to himself.

Because the moment that Derek had adorned Stiles’s beautiful body with his seed, the alpha had just barely managed to stop himself from sinking his teeth into that long, sinuous neck – almost bonding himself to the boy permanently. 

The memory makes Derek blissfully happy. And Derek knows what happens when he’s happy… the people he cares about most die. 

When they break the kiss Stiles says, “We could have done that up in my warm, dry room, Derek. Why are we down here?”

Derek rolls his eyes and starts to move toward the back of the house, dragging Stiles along with him. “Come on,” he says, and they sprint through the dark until they’ve passed the tree-line where one edge of the preserve begins. “Now take off your clothes.” 

“Again, Derek… these activities could have been accomplished much more comfortably _inside_ the house,” Stiles says. Derek just gives him an unamused look and pulls his shirt up over his head. Stiles heaves a put-upon sigh but eventually follows Derek’s lead, stripping down to his skin in the chilly, damp, darkness of the forest. 

Derek leans in and gives him another brief kiss, then whispers, “Shift,” allowing his eyes to flash alpha red. Stiles’s eyes flash in response – causing a pleased growl to sound from Derek. 

It takes him several seconds of concentration, but eventually Stiles manages to complete the shift. He sits at Derek’s feet when he’s done, looking up at him with those glowing orange irises. And he’s beautiful – there’s no other word for it. 

Stiles leans forward and licks Derek’s palm, bumping his muzzle into Derek’s hand until he slides it over Stiles’s furry head. It’s softer than Stiles’s human hair, but not by much, and Derek takes a moment to pet Stiles’s head while looking over the rest of him. He’s lightly colored – though it’s difficult to tell his true shades in the dark of the night. 

Derek scratches behind Stiles’s ears, which causes him to make a rumbling growl that Scott was right sounds just like a purr. And Derek could stand here and do this all night but he has something even better planned. So he strips off the rest of his clothes and shifts. 

He’s noticeably bigger than Stiles, which is somewhat surprising since they aren’t that much different in size normally. Derek is slightly taller and more thickly muscled, but as wolves, Derek stands a head taller and probably has at least twenty pounds on the cream-colored wolf. 

Derek’s never been fully shifted around another full-shift werewolf before. When his mother and then Laura had been alpha, he had still been a beta. Therefore he hadn’t really known what to expect. 

So he’s very surprised when he’s immediately bombarded with an influx of information from the other wolf. Derek wouldn’t say that he can hear Stiles’s thoughts exactly, but the inundation of emotions gives Derek a very good idea regardless. 

There’s a nervous anxiety keeping Stiles in check, but above everything else, Derek can feel a kind of excited happiness that he can’t even remember the last time he felt. It’s exhilarating to be sharing such positive feelings, which makes Derek wonder what kind of emotions Stiles is getting from him. 

Then Stiles ‘speaks,’ for lack of a better word. What actually happens is that Stiles slinks forward, slides the side of his muzzle against the side of Derek’s neck, and _whines_. Though what Derek hears is Stiles saying his name. 

The melancholy, “ _Derek_ …” makes the alpha stagger back in surprise, which then makes Stiles fall over and face-plant into the wet, leaf-strewn ground. Stiles yelps, but what Derek hears is, “ _Asshole_!” So Derek rushes forward to help nudge Stiles back to his feet. 

He opens his mouth to ask Stiles, “ _Are you alright_?” but it comes out as a bark of his own, causing Stiles to look up suddenly with his head cocked to the side. 

“ _Can you understand me too_?” Stiles asks with an inquisitive-sounding whine. 

Derek attempts to push his thoughts toward Stiles telepathically, but it’s a no-go. He finds that he has to actually open his mouth and make a noise for Stiles to hear him. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he responds simply with a short, sharp bark. 

Stiles begins a peculiar, rapid-fire combination of barking, whining, and even a howl or two while he dances around Derek’s stoic, seated form. “ _Oh my God_!” he says. “ _This is fucking amazing! I can’t wait to tell Scott – he’s going to be so jealous! Wait… Can you hear my thoughts or just understand my wolfy sounds_?”

Derek lets him attempt the telepathy thing as well, and while he can’t hear any of the words going through Stiles’s head, he _can_ feel the new emotion that those particular thoughts are making Stiles feel. 

The steadily growing warmth of arousal leads Derek to believe that either Stiles is thinking about what recently happened between them in Stiles’s bedroom earlier that day, or that he’s probably contemplating an encore performance in the very near future. 

Derek lets the pleasant, second-hand feelings wash over him until he’s feeling unusually warm and fuzzy inside. It’s almost enough for him to abandon his original plan, but not quite. 

He does indulge Stiles enough to pounce on him and tackle him to the ground, but he doesn’t linger. He simply mutters, “ _Later_ ,” with a short bark and a nip at his throat, then bounds off deeper into the forest. 

Stiles recovers quickly and takes off after Derek. Very soon the smaller wolf is hot on his heels – eventually overtaking Derek with surprising speed. 

“ _What’s wrong, old man… Can’t keep up_?!” he shouts as he zooms past. 

Derek doesn’t rise to the bait, though he does use his superior knowledge of the preserve to herd Stiles in the direction that Derek wants him to take – growling playfully and nipping at his furry heels. 

Stiles seems delighted. His jubilance follows him like the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread, and Derek finds it difficult to keep his drool in check. He’s literally panting after Stiles, and to his utter horror, he finds that he’s not even bothered by it. In fact, he loves it. Given the chance, he’d probably stay like this forever – gleefully chasing Stiles throughout the forest while happily forgetting everything else. 

Unfortunately, Derek knows that he can’t do that. The alpha pack is lurking in the vicinity and Derek still isn’t sure what his uncle is playing at. 

Peter had warned Derek that the alphas would want to turn Stiles because of his spark, but when he then claimed that that was all he knew about it, Derek had a very hard time believing him. And while Peter’s heartbeat had stayed even, Derek still can’t bring himself to trust the man. 

And then there’s the small matter of Scott to worry about, not to mention the sheriff. Both are obstacles that Derek must carefully navigate if he’s ever going to be able to count Stiles as a pack mate. He knows that his usual method of threats and intimidation just won’t cut it anymore. Stiles will never trust and submit to him if Derek tries to come between Stiles and those he counts as family. Though honestly, Derek doesn’t even know whether Scott or the sheriff will be the bigger challenge. 

Scott is a stubborn little shit – Derek knows this. But Noah Stilinski is a wild card. Derek knows that he’ll be fighting an uphill battle with that one, but he also knows that the sheriff loves his son and wants him to be happy, so he may give Derek his blessing. Then again, when he finds out about the supernatural realm that his son now belongs to, he may not be so accepting. It really could go either way. 

Derek’s thoughts are interrupted once more when they break through into a clearing and Stiles skids to a halt in front of him – the empty shell of the Hale house looming above them in the night. 

Stiles is suddenly radiating fear and sadness and whining out a suggestion that they turn back. But this was the destination that Derek had planned all along, so instead he just trots up the front steps and disappears into the house. 

By the time Stiles follows, Derek is shifted back and kneeling in front of a chest in what used to be the parlor. The severed link between them is jarring, but Derek bears it – just like he bears every other unpleasant thing in his life. 

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to the sudden nakedness factor of this whole wolfman thing,” Stiles says. He’s shifted as well – hands shielding his crotch shyly as he shifts restlessly from foot to foot. “Don’t get me wrong… the whole running around as a giant dog is weird enough, but then I shift back and boom! There’s my junk on display for all the world to see.”

Derek pulls two blankets out of the chest, and then stands up. He walks over and wraps one around Stiles’s shoulders before tying the other around his own waist. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says. He’s looking around the house nervously like he’s never seen the inside of it before, and Derek realizes that that just may be the case.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of here,” Derek assures him. “Not anymore, at least.” 

He leads Stiles out to sit on the front porch steps. Derek sits one step up and pulls Stiles back gently to rest against his’s chest. 

“I was going to ask why you even have these blankets here, but then I remembered that you used to stay here,” Stiles says quietly. 

Derek doesn’t say anything to that. Losing Laura had hit him hard… harder than he would have expected even. She had been all Derek had left after the fire. To find her the way that he had had felt like the end of the world. 

And Derek knows that he hadn’t handled that loss very well at all, to be honest. It’s only since Stiles has stumbled into his life that he’s felt like he might have something to live for again. 

Derek tightens his hold on Stiles and kisses his temple – breathing in the comforting scent of the younger man combined with the familiar scents of the woods that he’s grown up in. 

“I miss them,” he admits. It’s the first time he’s said it in years, and it hurts. Derek feels as if there’s a gaping hole within him labeled ‘family.’

Stiles snuggles back even closer and rubs his cheek against Derek’s throat – unintentionally leaving his scent behind along with his intended offer of comfort. “I know,” he says. “I miss my mom every day of my life.” He quiets then for a little while – both of them lost in their own grief while the rain from earlier drips steadily through the branches of the trees around them. “Have you ever considered rebuilding?” Stiles asks eventually, dragging Derek back from dark thoughts of the past and back into the present. 

Derek mulls the question over in his head while running his hand absentmindedly over the flat plane of Stiles’s abdomen. His skin is so soft there and Derek can’t help his fascination with it. Stiles also appears to enjoy it very much – his discomfort with the atmosphere is rapidly melting away into drowsy contentment as he nuzzles Derek like a cat. 

“I hadn’t really thought of rebuilding,” he admits. Derek tries to imagine it… When he thinks of a new Hale House he imagines one made out of brick and stone. It would have to be large enough for what pack he has now, but also have plenty of room for possible future members. 

And that last thought it what surprises Derek the most. If asked, he would have said that he couldn’t even imagine being a part of a large, close-knit pack again. And before right now Derek would never have been able to imagine a scenario like that that also included children. 

But right now he can see it. He can hope for a future that isn’t full of pain and horror – one that is worth living. And he realizes that he can do this because in these visions, in every one there’s a familiar face… Stiles. Stiles smiling and laughing, running around after several small children, or flushed in sleep with a baby held cradled to his chest, lying in the bed that he and Derek share. 

He can see weekend barbeques and full moon runs through the preserve. A large, thriving pack celebrating Christmas together in a warm house that’s full of love – sheltering Derek’s family from the bitter chill of winter outside. 

It’s such a beautiful picture that for a while he can’t even find words. His throat closes up with a welling of emotion and he gives in to the urge to nudge Stiles’s face to the side so that Derek can kiss him. “I’m considering it now,” he whispers when they part. 

Stiles’s eyes shine in the bright moonlight when he turns his body to better accommodate Derek’s amorous attentions. 

Their kisses quickly turn heated – especially when Stiles’s blanket slides off his shoulder and opens to expose his rapidly hardening cock. 

But suddenly Derek pulls back and jumps to his feet, leaving Stiles to fall over as his equilibrium is tested without Derek’s presence there to hold him up. “What the hell, Derek?” he asks, pulling the blanket back up around his shoulders. 

“Someone’s coming,” he tells Stiles. He can hear something large and fast running through the trees, and Derek is proud to see Stiles rise into an attentive stance – fangs descending and eyes flashing as he growls lowly. 

But then Derek catches the scent just as Stiles seems to do. The intruder is Scott. He’s running at a slow, sedate pace though, so Derek drops his guard and watches happily as Stiles mimics his reaction. It feels good to know that they’re on the same wavelength or whatever. Maybe it will help Stiles to make the right decision about which alpha to choose. 

The shaggy-headed teen eventually jogs out into the clearing, and Derek reigns in the instinctual urge to warn off the alpha werewolf invading his territory. Things will be better all-around if he and Scott can learn to trust each other. Or at least learn to act amicably around each other for Stiles’s sake. 

“Scott,” Derek says in greeting, nodding his head and trying to radiate a sense of welcome. 

Scott looks at them with suspicion – taking in their relative state of undress and the various scents still lingering in the air. “What are you doing here?” Scott asks. The kid’s animosity is obvious, but under the angry affectation Derek can sense weariness as well. 

“I could ask you the same question,” Derek responds. He speaks quietly and makes a conscious effort to keep his arms loose at his sides. Derek knows that his usual habit of crossing his arms over his chest menacingly would be the opposite of helpful in his current situation. 

Scott looks like he’s about to get worked up, but then Stiles walks up to him and bumps shoulders, lingering much longer than necessary in Derek’s opinion, but making Scott visibly relax. “What’s wrong,” Stiles asks. “Why are you out here alone? The alpha pack could show up at any time.” 

“I’ve been patrolling,” Scott tells them. 

“Alone?!” Stiles asks incredulously. 

“Yes, alone, Stiles.” Derek can tell that Scott’s starting to get upset again. He doesn’t want Scott and Stiles to fight, so he walks closer to the two of them and takes control of the conversation before Stiles has a chance to respond. 

“Did you find anything?” Derek asks. He grips Stiles on the nape of his neck to calm him down, but focuses most of his attention on Scott. 

“No.” Scott drops his gaze to the ground in disappointment. Scott’s exhaustion is clear, and Derek wonders if the kid has been sleeping at all the past few days. 

“Come on,” he says to both boys. “Let’s head back. You two have school in the morning.” He places a brief kiss to Stiles’s temple, and then he drops his blanket to the ground and shifts. The motion shocks Scott into jumping back and crouching into his beta shift, but Stiles just laughs.

“What? You didn’t know he could do that either, Scotty?” Scott cautiously straightens up, but doesn’t shift back. 

“Has he always been able to do that?” Scott talks to Stiles as if Derek isn’t even there and something about that doesn’t sit right with Derek, so he trots up to Stiles and starts tugging at his blanket shawl with his teeth. 

“No, he hasn’t… only since he became an alpha,” Stiles says as he wrestles with Derek for control of his coverings. “Knock it off, Sourwolf! Scott’s seen my dick enough this week.” Derek growls and doubles his efforts. He wants Stiles to shift and he isn’t feeling particularly patient right now. And while he’s pretty sure that he could use his alpha influence to force Stiles to shift, he doesn’t want to go quite that far. “Jesus! Fine! Have the damn blanket, you freak!” 

Stiles stands with his hands covering his crotch, still not shifting, and Derek is getting frustrated now. Then Scott shrugs out of his hoodie and hands it over to Stiles to cover himself with. Of course, that’s also counterproductive to Derek’s goal so he leaps between them and snatches the hoodie before whipping his head to toss it into the trees. 

Scott growls at him and crouches in front of Stiles like he feels the need to protect him from Derek. “Back off, Derek,” he says menacingly. 

“Scott, it’s fine,” Stiles assures his friend. “I’m pretty sure he just wants me to shift. Though why he couldn’t just ask nicely before he got all furry, I do not know.” Stiles glares at Derek while he says that, then turns back to Scott. “Come on, man. We can all run shifted. It’ll be fun.” 

Stiles briefly scratches Derek behind the ears, then shifts and takes off at a run. “ _Try to keep up, boys_!” he barks. Derek and Scott follow, racing each other while they try in vain to catch up to Stiles. 

Derek hates to admit it but the boy really is significantly faster than both alphas. It must be one of the differences between sparkwolves and regular weres. 

Stiles doubles back just so that he can run circles around the alphas, nipping at their heels when they growl at him in irritation. His joy is contagious though, and eventually Derek is nipping back – pinning Stiles to the ground playfully when he can manage to catch him. 

Derek’s victory is short-lived when Stiles quickly manages to slip free and shoot off into the woods again, making this ridiculous-sounding yipping bark that passes for a laugh. Derek finds himself helplessly enamored by the sound – his own lips pulled back in a wolfy grin while his tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

Stiles’s happiness is so contagious that even Scott’s present doom-and-gloom attitude thaws out somewhat while they run. 

When they finally reach the Stilinski’s backyard, Stiles jumps up and knocks Scott to the ground – slobbering all over his face before rolling to the side and shifting in one fluid motion. “Gross, Stiles!” Scott complains, his voice muffled by his sleeve as he wipes the wolf slobber off his face. 

Derek shifts as well, then they both begin pulling on the clothes which they had discarded earlier. They’re a little damp from the wet ground and the condensation in the air, but not too bad. 

“Come on, Scott,” Stiles begins. “You know you’re just jealous that you can’t turn into a giant, slobbering dog too.” Scott gives him an unamused look, but Derek thinks that there’s probably a kernel of truth in Stiles’s statement. Stiles is too smart for his own good. And Derek has found that no matter how much Stiles tries to deflect with humor, it never seems to stop him from speaking the truth. Unless, of course, he’s deliberately trying to lie… though that only works with those who _don’t_ have built-in lie detectors. 

All three of them walk silently through the back yard and down the side of the house, stopping underneath Stiles’s bedroom window. Derek knows that there’s a hidden key near the backdoor, but he figures that Stiles doesn’t want to take the chance of waking his father by going through the house. 

“So… I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Stiles says. “Scott, I’ll see you at school. Derek, uh… I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” Stiles is acting completely casual – affecting an air of total nonchalance and platonic feelings all around, probably for Scott’s benefit. 

Derek doesn’t find that anywhere near acceptable though, so instead of cool indifference, Derek places one large hand over Stiles’s stomach and shoves him gently back against the side of the house. He kisses Stiles thoroughly – until the younger man is slumping limply in Derek’s hold and humming contentedly. 

“I’ll make sure he gets home alright,” Derek promises Stiles. Stiles must trust Derek with at least that much, because he smiles at Derek and kisses him once more. And then he bids them both a quiet goodnight before climbing back up and through his bedroom window. 

“Come on,” Derek says. “I’ll walk you home.” He hadn’t driven to Stiles’s house this time – choosing instead to walk so as not to risk parking the Camaro near the sheriff’s house too often. 

They get far enough away so that Stiles won’t be able to hear them and then Scott rounds on Derek and shoves him before getting up in his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Derek pushes down the instinctual urge to show off his superior strength to the other alpha by not fighting back. “I’m walking you home, Scott.” 

“Not with me, asshole,” Scott spits. “What are you doing with Stiles?” 

Derek takes a deep breath and restrains himself, doing his best to keep his voice quiet and controlled while he answers Scott. “I want him to join my pack. That’s not news to you.” 

“And what? You think that making him believe that you like him is going to make him choose you over me?” 

“I do like him,” Derek responds easily. It’s true, and now that Stiles knows, Derek doesn’t see what the problem is with anyone else knowing. 

“Yeah, sure you do,” Scott scoffs. He starts walking again and Derek picks up the pace to catch up with him. 

“You know I’m not lying, Scott. I really do like him.” Derek might even go so far as to say that he loves Stiles… that he’s even considering taking Stiles as his mate at some point in the not so distant future, if that’s something that Stiles wants when Derek eventually gets around to explaining it to the young wolf. 

Of course, neither of those are things that he’s planning on telling Scott right now. After all, there’s no way that Scott should hear those things before Stiles does. 

And Derek expects a fully-fledged temper tantrum from Scott in response to this conversation, but it doesn’t really come. Instead Scott looks disgruntled, but resigned, as he keeps walking. “You don’t deserve him,” the young alpha says. And well, Derek can’t really argue with that…

“I know,” he says simply. “But that isn’t going to stop me,” he adds quietly. Scott’s demeanor doesn’t change at all. And while Derek’s not really surprised by Scott’s lack of surprise, he doesn’t think that’s the only issue at play right now. “That’s not the only thing that’s bothering you, is it?”

Scott snorts at that – giving Derek a flat look before saying, “Yeah, like we don’t have a pack of alphas on our ass trying to kill us and steal my best friend. What else could possibly be bothering me?”

“It’s more than that, Scott. I can tell.” They’ve reached Scott’s house by this point, so Scott turns to give Derek his full attention. “Now, you don’t _have_ to tell me, obviously. But I might be able to help if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Scott takes his time before saying anything. Derek is just about to turn to leave when Scott finally talks, and when he does, it’s so quiet that even Derek has a hard time hearing. “The alpha that bit Stiles,” Scott begins. “… I killed him, Derek.” 

“I know,” Derek says, sounding confused. 

“I _killed_ someone, Derek,” Scott says, the anguish evident in his voice. “A person who was alive is now dead… because of me.” 

Derek doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought about this before. Though he supposes he has been pretty distracted as of late. 

“If Ennis were still alive, Stiles would be overly susceptible to his influence. You know that.” And now that he thinks about it, Derek definitely owes Scott some form of gratitude for freeing Stiles from that very situation. “And as much as I’d like to be the alpha that Stiles chooses, I’m glad that he has the ability to make that choice of his own volition.”

“But that’s what makes it all the worse!” Scott says, raising his voice. “If I hadn’t killed Ennis, then maybe Stiles could have done it and been able to cure himself. He could have had the choice that I never got to make!”

The idea draws Derek up short. Derek has been so happy about Stiles becoming a wolf that he hadn’t even considered that Stiles himself might not be happy with his new circumstances. 

“Have you talked to him about this?” Derek inquires. 

“No,” Scott says, sounding like a kicked puppy again. “I didn’t want to give him another reason to choose you over me,” he admits. 

Derek sighs. What he’s about to suggest goes against every instinct that he has… except the instinct to please his mate. And unfortunately for Derek, _that_ particular instinct appears to be stronger than all the rest. 

“I think that we should try to merge our packs,” Derek suggests. “We both know that Stiles will never really be happy if we make him choose.” 

Scott is quick to nod his head in agreement, but Derek isn’t surprised at all when he squeezes in one final act of stubborn defiance. “Fine… But I’m just as much an alpha as you are, Derek. So don’t think you can boss me around like you do your betas.” 

“Alright.” Derek sticks out his hand for Scott to shake, which he does. Scott’s grip is unnecessarily crushing and he still reeks of animosity, but both of their heartbeats stay steady, and Derek figures that this is a best case scenario – at least for the time being. “And Scott,” Derek adds before walking away. “I think that you and Stiles should talk, but if there’s ever something that you don’t feel like you can talk to him about, you can come to me… I’ll listen.”

“Thanks,” Scott responds awkwardly. “That’s good of you, man.” 

“That’s what pack is for,” Derek tells him. As he walks away, Derek can feel a brand-new flicker of a connection to Scott. It’s weak, as well as incomplete, but it’s there, and Derek feels stronger already.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of new tags for this chapter, so please check them out if you're concerned about possible triggers. Some things could be seen as dubious consent, but there's also some kinky stuff that I wasn't really planning on, but apparently Derek was, so what could I do, you know? 
> 
> Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy! ;)

_Stiles: Having any better luck now that the sun’s out?_

**Derek: You mean since the last time you asked, half an hour ago?**

_Stiles: Yes, smartass. I’m worried. And starving. Humor me._

Stiles dips the tip of his paintbrush into the blood-red glob of oil paint on his palette before adding the finishing touches to his art class final. The only stipulation for the project is that it must be in an abstract style, which actually suits Stiles just fine. 

When he had decided to take art as an elective this semester, Stiles’s modest hope was that it would at least be interesting enough to help keep him focused enough to get through the fifty minute class. 

What he knows now is that creating art is so interesting to him that he often finds himself running late to his next class because he doesn’t want to stop painting. And abstract art is his favorite style to paint in by far. 

Stiles was never one for coloring inside the lines, and abstract gives him the freedom of expression that works best with the way his brain is wired. He can let his creativity wander in any direction the wind takes him without worrying about his finished product fitting into some pre-determined interpretation of reality. 

With abstract, Stiles can take a mistake (the H part in the ADHD makes a calm, steady hand next to impossible for Stiles… even _with_ the heightened senses) and turn that mistake into an opportunity for improvement. 

He’s also found that painting is one of the very few things that Stiles is capable of giving his full and undivided attention to – the only other items on that list being his father’s wellbeing and Derek’s hand on his dick. And Stiles _seriously_ needs to stop thinking of his father and sex in such close mental proximity to each other. 

**Derek: Everything is fine. No sign of them.**  
**Derek: Focus on your painting.**

Stiles whips his head around behind him to look out the classroom windows. He quickly scans the horizon for unfairly sexy creeperwolves, but without any luck. Either Derek’s hidden very well and watching him, or the alpha somehow knows Stiles’s school schedule without Stiles ever having told him. And though Stiles doesn’t know which prospect bothers him more, he can’t honestly say that he’s surprised with either scenario. 

_Stiles: I’m done with my painting. Now all I can think about is curly fries._

Stiles holds off putting the bright red paint to the canvas. Instead he leans back and tilts his head as he contemplates his creation. 

**Derek: I think it’s still missing something… Don’t you?**

Two simple brushstrokes – rounded swipes, mostly equidistant apart – and then the work is truly complete. The stylized black wolf is striking against the white background, and Stiles suddenly wishes that Beacon Hills was one of those places that spent all winter cloaked in a fluffy, white blanket of snow. If only for the novelty of rolling around in it with Derek, fully shifted. 

**Derek: Now it’s perfect.**

And that answers that question. Derek must be lurking in the shadows somewhere nearby, watching Stiles paint. The realization should be extremely disturbing, he knows. But instead Stiles finds himself comforted by the fact that Derek is close enough to do something, should any of the alphas decide to make a return appearance. 

**Derek: I like it.**

_Stiles: Then I guess you’d better put a ring on it._

He regrets it as soon as he hits ‘send,’ but by then it’s too late. 

_Stiles: Omg. Ignore me. I must have lost my brain-to-fingers filter in the change._

Stiles forces himself to ignore his phone long enough to carry his painting up to the front of the class where there is a designated spot for oil paintings. The work will have to spend the summer at the school so that it’s dried sufficiently before taking it home. 

“Very nice work, Mr. Stilinski.” Stiles turns at the sound of Mrs. Alvarez’s praise. She’s actually turned out to be one of his favorite teachers of all time – never once giving him a hard time for being himself, hyperactive quirks and all. “I really hope that you’ll continue painting, even when you’re no longer in my class. You have a real natural talent.” 

Stiles’s mother used to paint. He remembers being very young and knocking over a mason jar full of paint thinner while he reached for one of her brushes. He had wanted to surprise her by ‘helping’ her finish the painting she was working on at the time. 

By the time she had gotten back from the bathroom, Stiles had not only managed to destroy the varnish on the table with the spilled paint thinner, but he had also ruined her beautiful painting of a yellow, potted chrysanthemum by adorning it with a big, black splotch of paint. 

When it didn’t come out looking like he had intended it to look, Stiles had started to cry. But instead of yelling or punishing him for being a troublemaker (like the teachers at school liked to call him), his mother had just calmly went about cleaning up the spill. Then when she was done, she picked Stiles up and set him on her lap before gently taking the brush out of his hand. 

He thought that she might forbid him from ever coming back into her studio, because people were always telling him that he should just go away and mind his own business, but he was a curious kid with an impulse control problem and he really couldn’t help it. 

He should have known better though. Because even at the tender age of five years old, Stiles knew that his mother was one of the few people in his life that never yelled at him for the things that happened on accident. And she was the _only_ adult in his life that always seemed to know the difference between mistakes that happened accidentally, and ones that were just really bad decisions. 

So instead of wasting time on reprimanding him, Claudia had used the brush that he’d been holding to turn his ugly black splotch into a curious little bee. And then she’d promptly set him up with his own canvas and brushes and paint, and they’d continued painting side-by-side for the rest of the afternoon. 

Stiles’s interest had only lasted one summer though, because at the beginning of the next school year he had met Scott. Scott wasn’t interested in painting, and Stiles only wanted to do things that were interesting to Scott, so his newfound love of art had fallen by the wayside.

And then later, when his mother had gotten sick and her mind had quickly deteriorated, not being able to paint had upset her. So Stiles and his father had packed away all of her supplies into crates, which they’d then put up into the small attic over the garage, never to be touched again. 

It makes Stiles so happy to know that painting is something that he’s actually good at – grateful for the fact that there’s something tangible that he shares with his mother, even if she isn’t still around to know about it. He knows, and that’s good enough. 

And he would like to keep on painting… he really would. But besides the fact that he has zero time right now to commit to frivolous, non-life-threatening pursuits, neither Stiles, nor his father have the extra money needed for him to take up a hobby like that. 

Of course, Mrs. Alvarez doesn’t need to know all of that, so Stiles gives what he hopes is an acceptably non-committal answer before going back to his seat to wait out the final few minutes of the class period. He counts exactly six seconds before caving and checking his texts. 

**Derek: I like your fingers too…**

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of arousal those five little words inspire. He can feel his eyes glowing and his fangs itching to descend when he hears Erica whisper to him from across the room. “ _Stiles_ ,” she asks. “ _Are you ok?_ ”

Taking a deep, calming breath, Stiles gives her a thumbs up and goes back to staring out the window – once again trying to find wherever it is that Derek is hiding. Stiles doesn’t find him, but he does receive another text. 

**Derek: And your mouth…**

Oh holy Jesus… 

_Stiles: You’re not helping, Derek._

**Derek: Say my name again and I could be very helpful, Stiles.**

The bell signaling the end of, not only the class period, but also the end of the school year sounds, and Stiles does his best to keep his cool while fumbling with his backpack and his phone. 

He’s pretty sure that his current predicament is being exacerbated by the fact that even though Stiles had accepted Derek as his alpha as soon as Scott had told him that he would join the pack as well, Stiles and Derek haven’t actually seen each other between then and now. 

An excited thrumming has been running through Stile’s veins all day, and he has a feeling that it will only be calmed by being in Derek’s presence. 

“What is the matter with you?” Erica asks when she catches up to him. 

“Our dear alpha is what’s the matter with me,” he responds, flustered. “I get enough poorly-timed erections in school, Erica. I don’t really need Derek doing his damnedest to give me more.” 

Erica laughs as they walk towards their lockers. “I can’t say that I’m surprised,” she tells him. “The night of the full moon is getting closer. And I can tell you right now that bloodlust isn’t the only kind of lust that’s heightened around this time of the month.”

Erica’s warning/threat moves into the back of Stiles’s mind and takes up a permanent residence in there, which Erica can probably tell because she smirks and arches one perfect brow at Stiles while she waits for him clear out his locker. 

Boyd, Isaac, and Scott eventually make their way over as well, and by then Stiles has had enough time to convince his dick to settle down. Though he still gets funny looks from all the assembled wolves – especially when he leans in and runs his nose along Isaac’s shoulder, looking for any hint of Derek’s scent that may be lingering on the beta’s clothes. 

What he detects is enough to settle Stiles’s instincts for a while, so he’s much more composed when he asks, “So now what? Are we going back out to look for the alphas some more?” 

“Derek wants us to meet him at home.” It’s really weird to hear Isaac call Derek’s cold, lonely loft ‘home.’ But Stiles’s mother always told him that it’s the people, and not the architecture that truly make a home, so for her sake, Stiles attempts to reign in his judgement and stops himself from making a shitty comment. 

Derek is the closest thing that Isaac has to a father figure in his life right now. And while that’s sad and terrifying in its own way, at least they both have each other to count on – which is more than some people have in this world. 

“Scott!” All heads turn to face Allison where she’s standing down the hall and gesturing for Scott to join her. They’ve been avoiding her ever since the night that Gerard disappeared, though Scott had spoken with her long enough to find out that she and Chris plan on staying with relatives in France for the summer.

Scott jogs over to join her while the rest of the pack head toward the exit. Erica has somehow managed to swipe Stiles’s keys again, but this time Stiles has his brand new, mint, in-box keep-away skills that he hopes will ensure that he is no longer the one for which things will be kept away. 

“Boom! Snatched!” he crows while he leaps down the steps, victorious with keys in hand. A few fellow students notice his acrobatics with comically wide eyes, but he doesn’t care. In fact, Stiles decides that the rest of his day will be focused on looking on the bright side of life, instead of dwelling on all of the terrible, no-good, very bad things that are haunting his nights, as well as his days.

When they reach the Jeep, Boyd takes the shotgun position without a word. It only takes a couple of minutes before Scott rejoins them, and Stiles is surprised when his best friend doesn’t raise a fuss about Boyd being in his rightful place of honor next to Stiles. 

Instead, Scott just climbs quietly into the back seat where Isaac’s huge, lanky form is sitting awkwardly in the middle – his mile-long legs straddling the hump in the center of the footwell, so that his feet are encroaching on his packmates’ personal space. 

“And tell me again why everyone is squished into my little Jeep, when I _know_ that Derek is around here somewhere perfectly capable of providing transportation?” 

“He said that he had to stop somewhere on the way,” Isaac informs them. 

Stiles is tempted to call Derek and bitch him out himself. But his sunny-side-up promise to himself stops him from doing just that – choosing instead to just point his vehicle in the direction of Derek’s loft without any more complaint. 

He wants to ask Scott what Allison had said, and he wants to know exactly where Derek was planning on stopping, but he enquires about neither. It sort of kills him a little inside to keep his inquisitive mouth shut, but he figures that he’ll find out eventually. Or at least he desperately hopes so.

Knowing the answers to all the questions flitting around inside his head is basically Stiles’s main goal in life. It’s a never-ending endeavor, he knows, but he’s finally in a place in his life where he can accept that it’s just a part of him – neither good, nor bad, it simply _is_. 

But he’s also well aware that the urge sometimes tips over into the ‘compulsion’ category, so it always makes him feel better when he can deny his curious nature without inciting a panic attack. 

“Honey! I’m home!” The door to Derek’s loft is wide open when Stiles, Scott, and Derek’s betas arrive. “Honey?” Stiles repeats to the large, seemingly empty room. 

Stiles can detect only one additional heartbeat – which is coming from near the top of the spiral staircase – and he’s very disappointed when Peter, and not Derek begins to descend. 

“Welcome home, darling,” Peter says, and now Stiles really regrets opening his damn mouth. “Would you like me to draw you a soothing bath after your long, hard day, Stiles dear?”

Stiles makes a gagging noise and heads towards the corner of the loft with Derek’s bed, stopping at the sofa first to grab Peter’s laptop. 

When he encounters an obstacle in the form of a brand new, solidly built, and aesthetically pleasing coffee table, Stiles has to rub his eyes and double-take like a goddamned cartoon character before turning in a slow 360 to take in the ‘new and improved’ loft. 

The changes are many – starting with not only a coffee table that looks like it cost more than his Jeep, but also a new, eight piece living room set (which includes one, two-piece sectional sofa, one love seat, one sinfully comfortable-looking over-sized recliner, two end tables, and two lamps). There’s even a huge rug on the floor which looks super cushy and takes up the entire floor-space underneath the living room set. 

And then, of course, there’s the giant television set that has found a new home in a unit which also appears to contain all the newest gaming systems. His fingers itch to grab a controller and start playing, but several bright splashes of color catch his eye further into the room. 

When he investigates, Stiles first notices the gorgeous white and yellow mixed bouquet standing in a beautiful modern vase in the middle of the large table in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. There are other small touches added to the table as well – salt and pepper shakers at both ends of the wooden monstrosity, along with navy blue chargers and slate grey, cloth napkins held in shape by silver napkin rings. 

There’s even silver candlesticks holding pristine white candles, and it’s suddenly equally easy to imagine a romantic, candlelight dinner with only Derek as it is to imagine a rowdy pack get-together where they scarf pizza while they watch a Marvel movie marathon. Because no matter how much Stiles may love Batman (and Superman too!), life just isn’t worth living without the abundance of awesomeness that the Marvel franchise keeps dishing out on the reg. 

Lastly (at least as far as he can see from the common room), Stiles checks out Derek’s bed. There’s an ornate new headboard and footboard, but the linens look to be mostly the same (though this is preferable to Stiles because these sheets still smell very strongly of Derek and Stiles just sort of wants to roll around in them). The other difference is that there are several additional decorative throw pillows giving out bright pops of shiny silver and bright yellow – reminding Stiles instantly of the chrysanthemum painting his mother had painted when he was five years old. 

“Did Santa come early this year or something?” Stiles asks, still taking in the wildly improved living space. He notices the happy, excited scents from his fellow teens (minus Scott, but especially Isaac) and makes a mental note to praise Derek for his excellent decision making skills when it comes to interior design. Though why it took him _this long_ to think about the care and comfort of himself and his pack, is another conversation that they should probably tackle one day soon. 

“If you put Derek in a red hat and sit on his lap, I’m sure he’ll give you _exactly_ what you ask for, Stiles,” Peter oozes.

“God damn it, Peter!” Stiles shouts. “Why would you go and ruin such perfectly good spank bank material by letting that image come out of your sleazy mouth?”

“On the contrary, little wolf,” Peter contends. “My participation in your masturbatory fantasies can only improve them, I’m sure.” 

Peter winks at him and Stiles feels dirty all over – which is why he’s so glad when he picks up an additional heartbeat entering the loft, and he turns to see Derek coming in carrying a baker’s dozen reusable Target bags, all full to the brim and bulging dangerously.

The instinct to run to Derek (to run to his alpha) is suddenly so strong that Stiles is entirely surprised that Derek is able to set all of the bags safely on the ground before straightening back up and catching Stiles in his arms.

They kiss only briefly, and then Stiles slides back down to the floor before twirling around in Derek’s hold and baring his neck to the alpha with an embarrassing whine.

Stiles can feel Derek’s answering growl straight down to his bones, and he’s definitely at least slightly weirded out by his own body’s instinct to cant his hips back and rub his ass against Derek’s crotch. 

“Dude!” Scott complains from across the room, where he’s sitting on the loveseat with Isaac. “This can’t be the reason that you wanted all of us here, Derek.” 

Derek snarls at being interrupted while he’s thoroughly scenting Stiles’s throat – the alpha’s razor-sharp fangs harshly denting the delicate flesh in time with a tightening of his muscular arms around Stiles’s torso. 

“I certainly hope there’s no ice cream melting all over the floor right now,” Stiles worries aloud, hoping to distract Derek from wanting to take this – whatever this is – any further at the moment. Werewolf rules of modesty (or lack thereof) or not, Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever be down with getting down in front of his best friend… much less in front of creepy uncle bad-touch over there. 

Derek gives Stiles one last squeeze and one last nip on the neck before letting him go completely in favor of organizing the groceries. He calls Erica over and gives her one bag, which she takes to the bathroom on the main floor. 

Isaac gets two bags to take upstairs with him, and he gives Derek back a blinding smile in response to whatever goodies he finds inside. Stiles has never seen the upper floor of the loft, but he assumes it has at least a couple of bedrooms and another bathroom in it, and he puts ‘check out the upstairs’ on his list of things that he wants to get accomplished in the near future. 

Boyd, and even Peter move to help put the kitchen items away, but Scott stays stubbornly put on the loveseat – looking uncomfortable and out of place and so very over any and all of this pack stuff. 

Of course, that just won’t do, so Stiles yanks him up onto his feet and pulls him towards the remaining bags. “Remember how just this morning you were promising that you’d really try to make this combined pack thing work, Scotty?” 

Scott grumbles, but obediently goes to put away a large bag of Reece’s peanut butter cup minis – pausing briefly to grab Stiles by the hip and rub his face over Stiles’s right shoulder blade. Stiles can tell that Derek doesn’t like it. And if Stiles had to hazard a guess, he thinks that behind that frowny face, Derek is probably trying to decide which he likes less – Scott’s hand on Stiles’s hip, or the other alpha’s scent rubbed all over Stiles’s back and shoulder. 

“Ooh! I’ll take those!” Stiles exclaims, relieving some of the tension in the room by snatching the Reece’s right out of Scott’s hand. Stiles trades him for the bag of rice that he was carrying instead, and when he turns back all the groceries have been unpacked and there’s nothing left for Stiles to do but escape with his chocolate-peanut butter booty back over to the corner of the loft with Derek’s bed. 

The extravagant new seating area is a definite temptation, but Stiles had correctly guessed that if he does his researching from the comfort of Derek’s bed, that it would be a sufficient inducement for Peter to stay away. 

Stiles boots up the bestiary and then rips open the bag of minis. He can sense Peter watching him from his position at the table (the closest spot to Stiles without actually encroaching on Derek’s off-limits territory), so Stiles pops the treat into his mouth and moans obscenely at the taste before looking Peter straight in the eye and flipping him off. 

“No one likes a tease, little wolf,” Peter says, obviously perturbed at being thwarted in his attempt to get uncomfortably close to Stiles. 

“Hey, Pete,” Stiles says, intentionally poking the bear. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and bring me something to drink?” 

Peter looks torn between doing what Stiles asked and being his usual unhelpful self. But before he can make up his mind, Derek materializes next to the bed and hands Stiles a cold can of low-sugar iced coffee. It’s the perfect hit of caffeine that he needs, without the additional sugar that he definitely _doesn’t_.

“Aww… thanks, babe,” Stiles says, smiling as he grabs the can. He’s about to pop the tab when Derek grasps him tightly by the side of his head and leans down to suck Stiles’s brains right out through his mouth. 

“Just ignore him,” Derek whispers harshly in Stiles’s ear when he’s done making Stiles forget his own name. 

“Ignore who?” Stiles asks breathily. “Are there other people in this loft besides you and me?” Derek kisses him again – more gently this time – and then he goes back to the kitchen where the rest of the pack (minus Peter) are all getting snacks for themselves. 

They all eventually find their way over to the new furniture, where they laze around and eat their snacks while Derek catches them up on what’s happened in the last twelve hours, and what he thinks they should do in the next twelve. 

Stiles mostly tunes them out while he sets about skimming the Hale bestiary for any mention of alpha packs or sparkwolves. He comes across something about “true alphas,” and though interesting, it doesn’t seem to apply to their current situation. 

After that, Stiles gets lost in reading everything the book seems to have on mates and bonding – something that he can’t recall ever hearing about from Scott – and before he knows it, almost all of the pack (even Peter) is standing up and making moves to leave. Stiles glances down at the clock on the laptop to see that it’s five o’clock already, and then Scott is heading over towards the bed. 

“My mom wants me home for dinner,” he says. “If you aren’t ready to go yet, Derek said that Isaac can take me home in the Camaro.”

Stiles still has one more page on the subject of bond bites that he’d like to go over. Plus, it looks like this may be one of his best opportunities of getting Derek alone for some very great sex-having purposes. 

“Not quite, Scotty. Why don’t you go ahead and let Isaac take you home?” 

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll call you later, ok?”

“Sure. Ok. Don’t forget!” Scott still sounds skeptical, but he leaves anyway. Stiles nods and waves the rest off, and then very studiously avoids looking at Derek (this time the only _actual_ other person in the room) by being, well, studious. 

He honestly expects Derek to join him on the bed immediately, and so he’s surprised anew when the alpha makes his way over to the kitchen and begins pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

It appears as if Derek intends on cooking something, and Stiles considers asking if Derek would like some help. But in the end he figures that if Derek wanted help, he’d ask for it. And besides, there’s this whole other section on mountain ash that Stiles just _needs_ to read, since it’s the only magical thing that Stiles has actually done so far. 

A quarter of an hour later, the glorious smell of browning beef wafts over to where Stiles is sitting, and the call is too strong for him to do anything but set the laptop down on the brand-new nightstand and make his way over to Derek in the kitchen. 

“Isaac texted saying that he’s staying at Scott’s for dinner,” Derek informs him when Stiles leans up against the counter next to the stove. Derek’s making burgers, and Stiles can see that the power light is shining on a newly un-boxed deep fryer, and this is starting to look _very_ promising. 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles inquires. “And Peter?” He’s fishing, and he knows that Derek knows it. But Stiles really doesn’t care. If they have a significant amount of time alone, then Stiles doesn’t really feel like rushing anything. On the other hand, if someone is going to be waltzing through the door any minute, then Stiles absolutely intends on saying fuck the food, in favor of a much more naked alternative. 

“It’s just us for at least a couple of hours,” Derek says quietly. He hooks an arm around Stiles’s waist and reels him in – kissing him so sweetly that Stiles full-on sighs like some goddamned twitterpated debutante. “Can you hand me the blue bag from the freezer?” 

“Uuuuuuh… sure…” Stiles shakes his head to clear the fucking stars from his eyes, and then opens the freezer to grab- “Oh my god! You’re making me curly fries!?” 

“I’m making _me_ curly fries,” Derek corrects him. “You’re on your own.” 

“Holy crap! Derek Hale just made a joke! What’s the world coming to, I ask you?” Stiles hands over the bag, and then looks through the cabinets until he finds a couple of plates. “Also, your sense of humor is terrible, buddy, because if I’m on my own for curly fries now, then you’re on your own for orgasms later, and – oh shit, that kind of made it sound like I’m whoring myself out for curly fries, which really wasn’t my intention. But on the other hand, I’m _really_ fucking hungry right now, and-”

“Siles.” Derek cuts him off with the simple expedient of placing his hand over Stiles’s mouth. He appreciates it, because that rant was really starting to become quite the doozy. 

Stiles waits, holding still and staring into the beautiful mix of colors that make up Derek’s light eyes. The crackling sounds of the frozen potatoes crisping up in the fryer keeps the interlude from being silent, but as soon as Derek moves his hand, the wet, smacking sounds of them kissing joins the cacophony. 

Stiles whines when Derek palms his ass and moves down to suck a hickey on his neck. He knows that the mark will quickly fade, but the action reminds him of the section on mating marks that he’d read in the bestiary, which makes Stiles all the more receptive to the motion for some reason. 

“ _Derek…_ ” The timer on the fryer beeps, and the next thing Stiles knows, he’s clinging to Derek’s front like a baby monkey while being carried back over to Derek’s bed. He’s majorly impressed by the speed at which the alpha flipped the stove burners off and took the fryer basket out to place on a waiting plate of stacked paper towels meant to soak up the grease. 

He supposes that fire safety is probably one of Derek’s main priorities in life, but he’s still impressed. He’s even more impressed by how Derek is able to hold him up with only one arm – the other left free to rip Stiles’s shirt up over his head before he’s flung down on his back onto Derek’s mattress. 

“Good god, I love it when you manhandle me like that,” Stiles exclaims. Derek’s eyes flash and he growls. His Henley makes its way to the ground next, and then his jeans and footwear – leaving him in only a pair of black boxer-briefs while he yanks the rest of Stiles’s clothing off of his body. 

Stiles can scent the arousal practically gushing from Derek’s every pore, so he isn’t particularly surprised when they both go from fully clothed to naked in less than thirty seconds flat. Now if he can only get Derek to join him on the bed… “Come on, alpha… wanna taste you.” 

“ _Stiles…_ ” Derek crumbles. There’s really no other word for it. 

The alpha collapses face-first onto the mattress and groans – probably taking a moment to collect himself before lifting himself back up and crawling over to lower himself down on top of Stiles’s trembling body. 

“You’re shaking,” Derek observes. “Are you alright? Do you want to stop?” He looks like a ‘yes’ would probably kill him, but Stiles still considers it. They probably shouldn’t be doing this, Stiles knows. But in the overall scheme of things, super naked, fun times with Derek Hale in his bed is probably the least of all the things that Stiles shouldn’t be doing in his life right now. 

So he finally settles on, “I’m good, seriously.” And even though there’s a fine tremor running all over the surface of his skin, his heartbeat stays steady as he speaks, so they both know that he’s speaking the truth. “Just watch how close you get to my dick there, or this party will be over before it even begins,” Stiles emphasizes. “I’m so fucking horny right now, you have no idea.” 

Derek lifts his head from where he’s sucking on Stiles’s nipple and asks, “Can you come more than once?” 

“Can I come more than once?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Is water wet, Derek? Is the sky blue? Do bears sh _iiiiiiittttt_ … fuck! Derek!” Derek’s hand grips Stiles’s cock tightly – jerking him off quick and dirty while Stiles clings to his ridiculous shoulders. “Close! Oh my god, I’m close, Derek… sooo close…” 

Stiles shouts when he comes – a really loud combination of nonsense words that seem to truly speak to Derek’s soul or something, because he growls and dips his head down to lick up the dripping rivulets of come on Stiles’s chest and belly. 

He wastes no time before angling his head to take Stiles’s cock within the hot, wet confines of his mouth, and _oh shit_ that feels good – even with the sting of oversensitivity. He just came though, and Derek hasn’t yet, so Stiles’s pushes Derek back until he’s lying on his back next to where Stiles was just resting. 

He straddles Derek’s hips and leans forward to kiss the perfect specimen of man – their dicks lining up deliciously as Stiles rocks his hips. The feeling is blissful, but Stiles can’t get the idea of blowing Derek out of his head, so he shimmies his way down the alpha’s body, kissing and licking a lingering path. 

“I’ve never actually done this before,” he warns. “In case that wasn’t painfully obvious.”

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” Derek assures him. He rubs his hand over the short spikes of Stiles’s hair and it helps to calm him somewhat. 

“Oh, I’m ready,” he says, realizing the truth of it when his mouth begins to water at his close proximity. “Are _you_ ready?” Because Stiles is sure that Derek has been forced to do a lot of things in his life before he was ready, and he absolutely doesn’t want to be one of those things. 

“Definitely. Yes,” Derek whispers, leaning down to cup Stiles’s face before kissing him silly once again. “Just go slowly.”

Permission a-go, Stiles leans forward and licks tentatively at the precome glistening on the tip of Derek’s cock. It tastes different than his own – earthier with a savory tang which is lacking in Stiles’s. Also, he isn’t sure, but Stiles’s own seems to taste even sweeter than normal – the taste of it on Derek’s tongue making Stiles wonder if it’s just his new senses picking up previously unknown aspects, or if it really is different. 

Either way, Stiles thinks that it probably doesn’t matter. Especially when he goes all in and begins bobbing his head rhythmically up and down Derek’s shaft. Derek pants and groans and rests his hands on Stiles’s head with arms tense enough to snap, and Stiles _loves_ it.

He gets lost for a while in cataloging every little spot or movement that causes Derek to make all the best noises. A particularly quick head bob with an accompanying hand stroking from below seems to be the alpha’s favorite, because his moans are the loudest yet, and he says around a hint of fang, “ _Fuck_ , yes! Feels so good, baby. You’re doing so well.” 

Stiles shivers at the praise and tucks the endearment into his back pocket to sigh over later. And soon the sounds and scents of Derek’s pleasure turns Stiles on so much that he just has to get a hand around his own dick. The first touch is shockingly good, but then his hand is quickly smacked away before he’s flipped onto his back at the opposite end of the bed. 

Derek leans in and takes a really deep breath – scenting Stiles’s throat like a dying man taking in much needed oxygen. “Mmmm… Can you smell that, Alpha?” Stiles purrs. “Can you smell how much I want you?”

Derek growls and pins Stiles face against the mattress so that Stiles’s throat is completely on display, and then he lets his elongated fangs scrape across the tender skin before bathing the area with his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, his voice muffled. “Why do I like that so much?” He tries to reach for his cock again, but Derek senses the movement and retreats from Stiles’s throat – choosing instead to grip him by the hips and swallow him down in a perfect, practiced move. 

Stiles feels a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy at the thought that Derek has done this before with other people. But then he reminds himself that it’s probably a good thing that at least one of them knows what they’re doing – though Stiles does have a wealth of theoretical knowledge from all the porn that he’s watched. 

Speaking of which… Jesus Christ! Watching Derek suck his dick is one hundred percent the hottest thing that he’s ever seen. And that includes the time that Lydia bent over next to Stiles’s desk in one of those super short skirts that she likes to wear and flashed her red lace panties in his face. 

At the time, Stiles had gotten hard so fast that he almost passed out from lack of blood in his brain. But now, watching Derek go down on him with his perfect face and his perfect body… Stiles thinks that there’s a real possibility that he’s going to have a heart attack before the night is through. 

“Derek… Derek… Derek… Oh God… _Please_ …” Stiles mentally notes that blowjobs are officially his new favorite thing. And he’s honestly surprised that Scott never told him how amazing it feels, because it sure as shit is going to be the first thing that Stiles tells him the next time he talks to Scott. 

Derek sits up and reaches down to tweak Stiles’s sensitive nipples – keeping a hand on his cock and slowly stroking. “Please what, pup? What do you want?” 

Stiles wants to shout at Derek to hurry up and go back to sucking him off, but that’s probably kind of rude, and he doesn’t want to risk sounding ungrateful, so… “Your mouth, Alpha. Please… It feels so good. Want you to make me come.” 

A particularly ruthless pinch of one of his nipples makes Stiles gasp – a motion that quickly turns into Stiles choking on his own spit when Derek sucks him in once more. His green eyes flick up to ask a silent question, and Stiles gives him a thumbs up to let him know that everything is ok. 

And Derek is ruthless in his execution. He keeps pulling off right before Stiles is about to come – almost like he knows exactly how Stiles is feeling. And he wouldn’t put it past the alpha to actually know that. 

The fourth time that it happens, Stiles gets really frustrated and instinctively grabs the back of Derek’s head to hold it in place while he thrusts. But once again, Derek manages to pull off and slip from Stiles’s hold. 

The sudden loss makes Stiles whine and close his eyes, but they snap back open when he feels Derek leave the bed and begin to walk away. “Derek! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t leave!” 

Stiles leaps off the bed to follow him – taking only two steps before Derek is heading back with one of Isaac’s scarves in his hand. When he reaches Stiles, Derek lifts him up and tosses him back onto the bed, and then raises his arms up to tie his wrists to the headboard with Isaacs ridiculous scarf. 

Stiles knows that he could break free with very little difficulty due to his increased strength. But the message is clear – the alpha is in charge here, and Stiles would do well to remember that. 

“Do you want to stop?” Derek asks once the restraint is in place. “Or are you going to be good?” 

“I’ll be good… I promise!” There’s no way he’s stopping now. Good thing he doesn’t want to. “I’ll be soooo good, Derek.”

Derek kisses him to show his approval, and then he pulls a drawer open on the nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube. Stiles squirms with excitement, wondering exactly what Derek plans to do with it.

What he plans to do with it becomes pretty obvious when Derek slicks up the fingers of his right hand and pushes Stiles’s thighs apart to expose his hole. Stiles’s dick twitches at the first gentle touch. He’s done this to himself before, so the sensation doesn’t instill any fear, only pleasure. 

One of Derek’s thick fingers eventually breaches him, and Stiles stops staring at the alpha in favor of dropping his head back and moaning loudly. Derek finds his prostate on the first try – something that Stiles _still_ hasn’t been able to manage on his own – and it’s fucking glorious. 

The only thing that could make it better would be Derek bending down to – holy shit! Derek’s blowing him again. And if the alpha expects to delay Stiles’s orgasm, adding prostate massage on top of a blowjob certainly won’t help him any. 

“Derek! You’re going to make me come.” Derek pulls off again and stills the hand inside him, while using the other to soothe over the expanse of Stiles’s chest and belly. 

They go on like that for quite a while – until Stiles is begging and shaking from being denied so many times. “Oh my God, Derek… I’m so close. Wanna come… wanna come so bad!” 

“Ask nicely and I just might let you,” Derek tells him – tweaking a nipple and kissing Stiles sweetly. 

“Please, Derek… _Please_ … Please let me come…” Stiles can feel his heart beating out of his chest. His eyes are glowing. His nails have lengthened into claws which are threatening to tear through Isaacs surprisingly soft scarf. And his fangs are completely descended. He fears that if he doesn’t come soon, that his body will slip into a full shift – and that would just make everything really fucking awkward. 

Luckily, Derek relents. He adds another finger and takes Stiles all the way down – sucking him off diligently until Stiles just can’t take it anymore and he comes. Derek swallows every drop, but doesn’t give Stiles any time to recover before he rips through Isaac’s scarf and flips Stiles onto his belly. 

Stiles tenses for a second, not sure what Derek intends to do now. And while spiritually, Stiles is down for anything that Derek may want to do to him… physically he’s not so sure he up for much more right now. 

Which is why he’s relieved, but also surprisingly turned on, when he hears the familiar rhythmic slapping noises that tells him that Derek is jerking himself off. Stiles yelps when Derek lands a sharp slap to one of Stiles’s ass cheeks, and then he hears Derek roar at the same time that he feels the tell-tale wetness of the alpha’s release on the skin of his bottom. 

Derek collapses down onto the bed next to Stiles, and the next thing he knows, Derek is rubbing his hand over Stiles’s ass – collecting his come to push gently into Stiles’s hole. Stiles doesn’t worry, because Scott has already told him that werewolves can’t give or receive STIs, and it’s not like they have to be concerned about pregnancy seeing as they’re both guys. 

And besides… Stiles loves it. His wolf nature preens at being able to please his alpha – as well as the fact that he’ll leave here smelling strongly of Derek. While his human side rejoices in feeling so wanted – for knowing that out of all the people that he’s sure Derek has throwing themselves down on Derek’s alter of hotness daily… that the alpha chose him. Him – Stiles Stilinski. Stiles if fucking ecstatic! 

He’s also fucking exhausted. But his stomach starts to grumble just as soon as his eyes begin to droop. And Derek refuses to let him sleep in favor of forcing him to eat something. 

“Oh my god, this is so good!” Stiles exclaims through a mouthful of reheated curly fries. He doesn’t even care that they’ve lost their crispiness – the fact that Derek was thoughtful enough to make his favorite food makes said food taste about two hundred percent better. 

They eat on the couch – because Stiles wants to and Derek is apparently in a magnanimous mood. And when they’re done, they put on a movie and snuggle up together (mostly clothed) under a fuzzy, warm blanket that’s also a new addition to the loft. Which reminds him…

“Just so you know, Derek… I wholeheartedly approve of the changes you’ve made to this place. We all need more comfort in our lives, and it doesn’t get more comfortable than this.” 

Derek simply hums and pulls Stiles in closer to his chest. They kiss briefly, and then Stiles settles in to take his mind off alpha packs with a delightful romp through World War II with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. 

His dad’s working again tonight, so Stiles doesn’t worry when his eyes begin to droop and he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before he falls asleep. On a scale of crap to awesome, this night has definitely fallen into the latter category, and he can’t wait for future repeat performances. 

It’s only when he’s being shaken awake sometime later that he begins to think that there may be something to be worried about. 

“Stiles, come on. You have to get up,” he hears Derek say. His tone is gentle, but insistent, so Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes, trying to give Derek his undivided attention. “Scott just called.” 

“What happened?” he asks. Thoughts of dead packmates suddenly jump to the front of his mind and he starts to panic. 

“Calm down… everything is ok. He just said that your dad is looking for you.” What? Why would Scott know that his dad is looking for him? “He said that your dad expected you home and got worried when you weren’t answering your phone.” 

Oh shit. Why would his dad even know that he isn’t home? And why didn’t he hear his phone ring? He jumps to his feet and runs over to where his jeans are lying on the floor, thinking that he must have forgotten to turn his ringer back on after school. 

Phone in hand, Stiles starts pacing back and forth. His phone battery is dead, actually, so no wonder he didn’t hear any messages or calls. He can’t believe that he didn’t even think to check. He doesn’t even know what time it is!

“What time is it?!” he asks Derek. 

“About midnight,” Derek answers. Stiles’s heart is racing and he knows he’s in deep shit. He also has no idea what kind of an alibi to come up with for where he’s been and what he’s been doing. 

“I’ve got to go.” He’s fully dressed and racing toward the door when Derek catches up to him. 

“I’m driving,” he says, tugging the keys out of Stiles’s trembling fingers. “I’ll get out before we reach your driveway, but I’m driving.” 

Stiles doesn’t bother arguing. He’ll need the whole drive to come up with something believable to tell the sheriff. So they head out to his Jeep and Stiles begins to pray. 

“Everything will be fine, Stiles,” Derek assures him. 

“Optimism doesn’t suit you, Derek,” Stiles counters. He’s lashing out – Stiles knows it. But who can blame him when he knows full well that he’s about to climb the steps to the hangman’s noose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... another cliffhanger. This chapter was already forever long though, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Oh, also... I haven't quite decided yet whether I want Allison to stick around, or if I want her and Chris out of the picture completely. Leave me a comment if you have an opinion, because I could work with either option. I'm sort of considering adding a poly ship with Scott, Allison, and Isaac. Or maybe just Scott and Isaac. I don't know. What do you think?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the input on my question from the last chapter. After much thought, I've decided to go with just Scott/Isaac, instead of a poly ship with Allison. 
> 
> Because of this, just assume that Chris and Allison have left for France, in case the subject doesn't come up naturally in the dialogue more than just the throwaway line that I added a couple chapters back. Thank you!!

“You’d better have a damn good explanation, kid.”

Stiles doesn’t even have time to shut the door before his dad is raising his voice from the kitchen. So he shuffles along slowly, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. But eventually he runs out of excuses to stall, and he ends up in the kitchen, looking into the disapproving eyes of his sheriff father. 

“Dad, I’m sorry. I fell asleep and I didn’t realize that my phone battery was dead. It was an honest mistake.”

“But where the hell were you? And don’t say ‘with Scott,’ because I already spoke with him and he said he didn’t know where you were,” his dad says, pointing an accusatory finger in Stiles’s direction. 

Knowing this already, on the drive home, Stiles had called and tried (unsuccessfully) to get Danny to act as an alibi, and agree to say that Stiles had been with him all evening. Unfortunately, Danny had informed him that he had spent all evening at Jungle on a double date with Lydia, of all people. 

And that wouldn’t have necessarily been a problem, but Danny had also informed him that he had noticed Deputy Parrish spending the evening there as well, and Stiles doesn’t want to take the chance that Jordan would mention being there (and _not_ seeing Stiles at all) to the sheriff. 

And Stiles can’t stand the thought of his father catching him out in yet another lie (especially not when he’s hiding such a huge secret from him), so he decides to stick as close to the truth as possible while still attempting to avoid telling his father about Derek. 

“I was over at Isaac’s place.” 

“Oh, really?” his father asks skeptically. “Because I know for a fact that Isaac spent the evening at Melissa’s house with Scott. So do you want to try that again?”

Damn. He should have known that his dad would have spoken with Melissa. This _thing_ between them is really starting to be kind of inconvenient for Stiles. 

Alright, so quick thinking then… “I _was_ at Isaac’s though,” Stiles repeats. “It’s just that Isaac wasn’t there.” His dad makes a face that says that he’s quickly losing his patience, but Stiles works well under pressure, so he tries his best to remain confident. “I was hanging out with Boyd and Erica.”

“Who?” 

Oh yeah, his dad doesn’t know Boyd or Erica. But that’s nothing to worry about. “You know… Boyd and Erica! They’re my friends. We hang out all the time!”

The sheriff gapes at him like Stiles is talking in tongues. “Stiles, you’ve _literally_ never mentioned them before.”

“Oh, well… I’m mentioning them now! They’re Boyd and Erica… my friends.” The sheriff’s narrow-eyed stare really hasn’t changed much since Stiles was five. “We, uh… we hang out, you know?” 

“Actually, Stiles, it seems that there’s quite a bit that I _don’t_ know, you know?” Ok, Stiles figures that he probably had that coming. “This Erica girl… are you two dating?” 

It’s so sad to see the mixture of hope and irritation on his dad’s face, reminding him that he can’t confide in his father about his recent foray into the wonderful world of dating (or sort of dating… whatever). Well, he could, but then Derek would probably end up in cuffs (and not in a fun way, either), and Stiles would end up grounded and confined to his bedroom for the duration of the summer. And quite possibly even the rest of his life. 

“Erica? And me?” Stiles laughs. “Um, no, Dad. Erica and I are not dating. Actually, I’m pretty sure that she and Boyd may be seeing each other. Or at least thinking about it. We were just having some dinner and watching a movie.” Then Stiles remembers… “I thought you were working tonight, or I would have at least checked in. Again, I’m really sorry.” 

Stiles plays nonchalant and goes to pour himself a glass of milk, thinking that he’s effectively skated the truth and his dad will just drop it now. 

Too bad that’s just not how Stiles’s life goes… “Wait a minute,” his father begins. “’Isaac’ is Isaac Lahey, right?”

“Uh… yeah?” Stiles takes a sip of his milk, not liking where this is heading.

“Isaac has been emancipated. Where is he staying these days? Because I know that his house has been sold.” 

Shit. Stiles isn’t going to be able to lie about this. He’s going to be spending a lot of time with Isaac. So he’s going to have to mention Derek after all. “Oh, well… he’s staying with a friend.” 

“And this friend’s name?”

“…Derek…”

“Derek what?”

“Derek what, what?”

“His last name, Stiles. I know you understand me.” 

Damn it… “Derek Hale?” Stiles braces himself for the inevitable backlash, squinting his eyes until only the barest sliver of one eye remains open. 

But instead of an onslaught of words, his answer is meant with silent. And when Stiles opens his eyes to look, his dad has dropped his head and is pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles would feel bad for giving him a headache, but he isn’t feeling all that great at the moment either. What can he say? He’s under a lot of stress right now. 

Finally, his father lifts his head to face him. “Derek Hale? As in, recent murder suspect and wanted fugitive, Derek Hale?”

“He’s not a wanted fugitive anymore,” Stiles says in Derek’s defense. 

“That’s the best response you can come up with, Stiles? Really?” Stiles shrugs. “What is Derek even doing taking in a traumatized teenager?” Well, his dad makes a good point. But it’s not like Stiles can just say, ‘Oh, well Derek is Isaac’s alpha. So it’s best that they spend a lot of time together so that Derek can teach him how to be the best werewolf he can be. Oh, and by the way… Derek is my alpha too. Surprise! Your only son is a creature of the night!’

Well, he _could_ say that… but again, that’s not going to happen right now. 

“I don’t know. Derek is Isaac’s friend. And he didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I think Derek is just trying to be helpful. He’s actually a really nice guy.”

“Oh? And exactly how do you know how nice of a guy Derek is, Stiles?” Abort! Abort! This interrogation is getting much more in-depth than Stiles had ever intended it to get. 

“Isaac told me,” he lies quickly. “I mean, I don’t actually know Derek personally or anything. He wasn’t even there tonight.” Ouch. It actually hurts Stiles’s heart to tell that particular lie. Especially since he can still smell Derek on his body and his clothing while he stands there talking to his father. 

The sheriff is thoughtful for several moments before finally saying, “I’m not sure how I feel about you spending time at Derek Hale’s home.” Stiles’s heart sinks. His instincts revolt at the thought of being forbidden from seeing Derek. He honestly doesn’t know how he’ll be able to sustain sneaking around _and_ blatantly lying about it for at least a whole more year. 

Because make no mistake… Stiles flat out refuses to stop seeing Derek. He doesn’t think his instincts would allow it, for one thing. And for another… he just can’t imagine doing it. It hurts to even consider. 

“I’ll have to think about this.” His dad takes his empty whisky glass to the sink to clean it out. And Stiles hates himself for being the reason that his dad was drinking tonight. “I’m going up to bed. And I’m working the day shift tomorrow, but I expect you home for dinner.” 

“Sure, Dad. I’ll be here,” Stiles assures him. He hopes that nothing comes up concerning the alpha pack – he’d really like to keep at least one promise to his father. 

Heading for the stairs, his father squeezes his shoulder and says, “Alright, son. Get some sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.” 

Stiles waits, silently and unmoving, as his dad goes upstairs and gets ready for bed. His adrenaline levels are crashing, so when he starts to feel weak in the knees, he sits at the table and lays his head down – closing his eyes and just counting his breaths. 

He’s not sure if his sudden, extreme reaction is a result of the change, or just the accumulation of so much stress in such a short period of time. But whatever the reason, it’s not until Stiles can hear the silence in the house and the deep, even breaths that tell him that his dad is asleep, that he finally heads upstairs himself. 

He’s tired. Physically and mentally drained, and it’s just now starting to catch up with him. 

But when he nears his closed bedroom door, suddenly he’s on high alert. There’s an unfamiliar scent lingering on the air – the scent of an alpha werewolf – and he’s not sure what to do. 

Cocking his head to the side, Stiles listens for any additional heartbeats. There’s something, he thinks, but it’s really far away – maybe one of the neighbors or a random passerby. On the other side of the door there’s nothing though, so he takes a chance and opens it slowly, being as silent as possible.

But then he berates himself for even bothering. Because if there is an alpha werewolf on the other side of that door, he or she already knows Stiles is there. 

The room appears empty. The only possible hiding place is under the bed, so he flips up the comforter to have a look – just like a child looking for imaginary monsters. Too bad the monsters that Stiles is looking for are real.

The strange alpha’s scent does seem concentrated on Stiles’s bed, though. So he pulls the covers back and lifts the pillows, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There’s nothing. And nothing seems missing from the room either. 

Pulling out his phone, Stiles automatically calls Derek, who answers on the first ring. “Stiles-”

“They were in my room, Derek! And my dad was home alone all day! He could have been killed!” Stiles tries to keep his voice down as he starts to feel panicked again – his heartbeat and breathing fast and erratic, and a tightness in his chest threatening to choke him. “Please come back… I can’t do this alone.”

At the sound of the window sliding open behind him, Stiles spins around and snarls – he’s two seconds away from a full shift when he realizes that it’s Derek climbing through and sliding his phone back into his pocket. 

In the blink of an eye, Stiles has thrown himself into Derek’s arms and is breathing in the calming scent of him with his face shoved into Derek’s neck. 

“It’s alright, Stiles. You’re alright.” Stiles whines his dissent at how _not_ alright he is right now, but Derek just continues to soothe him – a tight grip on the nape of his neck, and his soft voice whispering promises in his ear. “And your dad is alright too. Listen… you can hear his heartbeat and his breathing. I know you can. Just quiet your own responses and focus on your dad.” 

And he does. Stiles tamps down the rising panic that’s threatening to swallow him whole and focuses his hearing two doors down. The sound of his father’s steady heartbeat and shallow breathing brings on such an overwhelming sense of relief that he just deflates. His slumping form is caught carefully by Derek, and Stiles is lead to the bed to sit down. 

“I’m sorry, Derek. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. It’s just… it’s my dad. He’s the only parent I have left. I can’t… I just can’t…”

“I know,” Derek says. He runs a soothing hand up and down Stiles’s back – treating him like a spooked horse. It’s working though… Stiles is feeling calmer already. Until Derek says that thing again… that thing that Stiles can’t even begin to think about… “Maybe it’s time to tell him.”

“No.” 

Stiles jumps to his feet and quickly leaves the room. He makes his way to the bathroom and back before Derek can decide whether or not to follow. When he returns, he’s brandishing a can of air freshener, which he immediately starts spraying all over his room. 

Unfortunately, the spray doesn’t seem to help much. In fact, all it really does is make the alpha’s scent seem worse in comparison. Eventually, Derek grabs the can out of his grasp before he can completely empty the contents, and he chucks it out the window for good measure, to make sure that Stiles can’t start spraying it again. 

“Feel better?” Derek asks sarcastically, rubbing his nose like it itches and blinking away tears from the apparent stinging in his eyes. 

“No.” Stiles plops down in his desk chair and crosses his arms over his chest, stubbornly ignoring his own discomfort. “I’m not going to tell him, so don’t even bother.”

“But Stiles-”

“Drop it, Derek. It’s not going to happen.” He stands up again so that they’re on the same level. He can scent sadness from Derek. But he can also scent rising anger and frustration. 

“Do you think that I don’t understand how it feels to lose a father, Stiles? Or a mother, for that matter? Sisters? Cousins? Aunts? Uncles? I lost them all!” Derek takes a deep breath to calm himself enough to lower his voice, when an audible snort sounds from Stiles’s dad’s room. “I know how it feels. But do you really think that _not_ telling him about all of this is going to keep him alive?”

“No,” Stiles responds shortly, getting up in Derek’s face. “But it might keep _you_ alive, Derek! What do you think the _sheriff_ will do when he finds out running with you got his only child turned into a werewolf? Hm? And what about when he finds out that on top of _that_ , you’re also having sex with me? Do you think he’ll just give you his blessing and look the other way? No! You’ll be lucky if you just get run out of town, instead of being thrown in jail! Why do you think I’m putting it off as long as I can?”

He’s not lying… he’s not. But the emphatic tone to his last statement causes his heartbeat to stutter slightly, and he knows that Derek heard it. Fuck. 

Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, Derek asks, “But that’s not the main reason why… is it? Because your father’s approval of _me_ is not the most important thing to you, Stiles.” _Don’t say it, Derek. Please don’t say it._ “What you care about most is your father’s approval of you.” 

He said it. He fucking said it and now Stiles has to think about it. 

And he knows that he can’t lie, because Derek will know. But he also can’t bring himself to admit it. So instead he just drops his head and hugs himself – a posture which he hasn’t used since he was young and his dad used to get frustrated with him and yell before he realized what he was doing and apologized. 

“Stiles…” Derek’s arms wrap Stiles up in a warm and gentle embrace. He feels a kiss on his temple and Stiles lets himself be comforted by the nearness of his alpha. By the nearness of his… his something. “Your father is a good man. And you are the most important thing to him. He’s going to be able to find a way to accept you regardless of the differences. I truly believe that.” 

“But why? Why would you believe that?” Stiles’s heart is starting to calm – the poor, overworked muscle slowing to match the rhythm of Derek’s against his own. 

“Because I’ve heard the way he talks about you to other people,” Derek states simply. 

“What?! When?!” Stiles jerks back to look at Derek’s face. 

“Lots of times.” Stiles’s mind works overtime trying to come up with an instance when Derek was anywhere near his father. “He’s arrested me before, Stiles. Remember?” Oh yeah, that did happen, didn’t it? “And the doors at the sheriff’s station don’t seal very well. Voices carry very well there.”

“Oh, right. I guess that makes sense,” Stiles concedes. And then Derek starts looking shifty.

“Plus there are all the other times.” Stiles narrows his eyes and resumes crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What other times?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Just other times. Sometimes I’d hear him around town… sometimes here at the house…” 

Wait a minute… “Derek, have you been watching me? What exactly are you talking about?” 

“I haven’t been watching you.” He’s telling the truth… or at least something close to it. “I just come by the house sometimes to make sure you’re ok.” 

“How long?” Stiles inquires. “How long have you been checking up on me?” 

Derek stalls, rubbing his palm up and down the back of his neck. 

“Derek?” 

The alpha sighs. “Since I saw you and Scott in the woods.” 

“What?! As in, the _first_ time we ever met? The time with Scott’s inhaler? That time in the woods?!” Stiles is floored. He had absolutely no idea that Derek had even thought about him until recently. 

“It wasn’t…” Derek’s frustration is ringing loud and clear. “It wasn’t weird, ok? The first time we met, I just… I liked how you smelled. It piqued my interest.” Stiles looks at him incredulously. “It’s instinct, Stiles, alright? I couldn’t help it.” 

“You couldn’t help _stalking_ me?”

“I wasn’t stalking you. In fact, I actively tried to avoid you most of the time,” Derek says, anxiety evident in his scent. 

“Most of the time?” Stiles asks, for clarification. 

“Yes. Most of the time I stayed away. Or if I couldn’t, I worked hard to make it clear that I wasn’t interested. I thought it was best.”

“So _that’s_ why you were such a dick to me all that time?! Because you _liked_ me?!” Stiles still can’t believe it. Derek fucking Hale has been pulling his pigtails all this time. Way to give a guy a complex. 

“Yes,” Derek admits.

“So what changed?” Stiles asks. “Besides the obvious, of course. Because whatever this thing is that’s going on between us, am I wrong in saying that it started _before_ I was bitten?” 

“No, you’re not wrong,” Derek admits. “And the truth is that it started back when I became an alpha. The urge to be near you got to be too much to ignore, and once Jackson and Gerard were taken care of, I didn’t have any other immediate threats to keep me occupied. The alpha pack was always a concern, but even then, it only made me want to get closer to you… to be able to protect you.” 

“…Because you like me?” 

“Because I want you to be my mate.”

Stiles’s heart jumps up into his throat at Derek’s words – half terror, half exultation. He remembers reading about mates in both bestiaries. The Argents gloss over the topic, but the Hales get into the subject much more thoroughly. Which makes sense, of course. 

But both families agree on one point… mates are for life. Mating is basically a werewolf marriage that can only end in death. And why Scott never mentioned _that_ before is another question that Stiles has for his bestest friend. But then again… Scott may not even know about it. He’s been learning on the job for the most part, and maybe Derek hasn’t thought it important enough for Scott to know. 

“Stiles… breathe…” Letting out a breath that he hadn’t been aware of holding in, Stiles snaps out of whatever mindset he’s been in for the last couple of silent minutes. “Say something… please.” 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.” And isn’t that a fucking first. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment, Derek.” 

Stiles’s newfound instincts are screaming at him to accept – to bare his neck and submit to whatever Derek may ask of him. But a lifetime of strictly human experience is stopping him. It’s just like when Peter had offered him the bite. He had wanted it – Peter was right about that. But Stiles ultimately decided not to go through with it because there is no going back. And mating with Derek would come with the same kind of permanent consequences. 

“I know that, Stiles. I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that it is what I want. And as a born wolf, it’s a want that’s almost impossible to change.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks. 

“Yes. It’s instinct.” And there’s that word again. “It’s different for bitten wolves,” Derek says. “You’ve spent most of your life as a non-wolf – your senses haven’t been strong enough to pick up on things like this until now. It can be confusing for you.”

Yeah. No shit. Stiles is definitely confused. 

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t learn to understand it.” Derek steps close once more and cups Stiles’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him deeply. 

It’s sweet relief, and Stiles melts into the touch – moaning quietly as Derek makes him forget all about his father, alpha packs, _and_ eternal commitments. 

Derek spins Stiles around and walks him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed. Then, in one fluid movement, Derek has him laid down on his back with the alpha lying on top of him, resting snugly between Stiles’s thighs. 

“Your wolf will tell you who to choose, Stiles… You just need to listen.” And Stiles believes him. Because right now he can’t think of anyone or anything else. Everything is Derek, and Alpha, and _mate_. 

“ _Derek_ …” Stiles pleads. He writhes in his excitement – wanting more… wanting everything – but Derek stills him by pinning Stiles’s hips to the bed with his own. 

“Shh, baby… You’ve got to stay calm.” Stiles takes in deep lungfuls of air, heavy with Derek’s scent. It’s not working this time though. Instead, the alpha’s wonderful scent is pinging around inside Stiles’s brain until his whole body is buzzing. It’s the arousal, Stiles thinks. And scenting it flips every switch that Stiles has to ‘on.’ 

He’s about to surge forward and attempt to flip them when Derek’s phone starts ringing. The alpha quickly rolls to the side to fish his phone out of his pocket, hoping to silence it before the sound can wake the sheriff. 

“What?” he says, voice clipped. And Stiles can hear the person on the other end of the line – it’s Peter – but he can’t focus on what’s being said. All he really can focus on is the hard line of Derek’s cock, showing through the denim of his jeans. 

Stiles drags his hand down, but Derek grabs his wrist and stops him from reaching his goal. “I’ll meet you there. Wait for me.” Derek sighs and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I’ve got to go. Peter picked up a fresh trail,” he says. And that’s the last thing Stiles wants to hear right now. “Do you want to come with?”

Stiles grumbles in frustration and curses his age once more. “I can’t,” he says, hating everything. “My dad is going to check on me tonight. I know it. I have to be here when he does.” 

“Ok.” Derek leans down to kiss him one last time, before getting off the bed and heading for the window. “I’ll call you if we find anything.” 

“I can’t believe you’re turning down orgasms to meet up with Peter, Sourwolf.” Away from the direct, undiluted influence of the alpha’s scent, Stiles is able to calm down enough to think clearly. 

“Me neither,” Derek agrees, shaking his head. And then he’s gone and Stiles is alone – hard and frustrated and really, really confused. 

He strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and punches the pillow into a more comfortable shape. But he realizes quickly that falling asleep might be a futile endeavor, so instead he gets up and goes to boot up his laptop – deciding that more research can only help to quiet all of the questions running around in his head. 

Though what actually ends up happening is that Stiles rereads the section on werewolf mating habits three times while listening to the reassuring steady beat of his father’s very alive heart.


	10. Chapter 10

“It was Duke,” Stiles says – hand shaking where it clutches the phone to his ear. 

“ _What? Who?_ ” Stiles sighs. Derek had obviously been sleeping when Stiles called. 

He doesn’t blame Derek. Stiles would still be sleeping as well… That is, if his fitful few hours hadn’t been interrupted by his dad calling to remind him that Stiles needed to be home for dinner that evening. 

And even then, Stiles had just been getting settled back in bed when he realized why his sleep was so disturbed – there was a piece of paper saturated with the invading alpha’s scent that had slipped down between his mattress and the wall, which proved to be a combination love letter and threatening warning. 

“The alpha that violated my bedroom yesterday… It was Duke – Deucalion, whatever. He left a note. I just found it.” 

Stiles hears rustling in the background on Derek’s end of the line – the alpha obviously more alert than he had been a minute ago. 

“ _What does it say?_ ” he asks around a throat-clearing cough. 

“Oh, you know, the usual… professions of undying love, made right alongside threats to me and all those that I hold dear. Same-old, same-old.” 

“ _Undying love?_ ” Derek asks skeptically. “ _He hasn’t even met you._ ”

“Ok, fine, maybe not undying love. But I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around what he actually wrote.” Stiles brings the crumpled note up to re-read that particular part again. “The concept of werewolf marriage is still somewhat new to me, all right?” 

After slipping on some pants, Stiles runs around the house making sure that all of the doors and windows are shut and locked – even though rationally Stiles is aware that it won’t do a damn bit of good if any of the alpha pack decides to show up. 

“The full moon is tomorrow, Derek. What am I going to do?!” Feeling panic starting to set in, Stiles thinks to himself that it’s way too early for this shit. 

“ _Stiles, breathe,_ ” Derek commands. And it helps… it does. But not as much as what he says next. “ _I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you… I promise._ ” 

And even though Stiles knows that it’s not necessarily a promise that Derek will be able to keep, it still blankets Stiles in a warm sense of calm that helps bring back his ability to focus. 

“I need you, Derek,” Stiles pleads lowly. “I need you near me.” And he can’t believe he’s going to say this, but… “I took a shower last night and now I can’t smell you on me, and I-”

“ _I know, pup… I know. I’m coming to pick you up. Just stay put until I get there._ ”

Stiles takes a deep breath and nods, forgetting momentarily that Derek can’t see him. “Yeah, ok. See you soon.”

Stiles hangs up and heads back upstairs and to the bathroom when his bladder reminds him that it still exists and would like some attention. It takes longer than usual because his dick is still slightly hard from an unwanted case of morning wood. 

And he had been surprised to find himself in that state at all when he woke, especially with the caustic scent of the intruding alpha in his nose. But it was there all the same, and continued to be there throughout all of his phone call to Derek. 

Shrugging it off as a quirk of biology, Stiles puts a call through to Scott and hits the speaker phone icon while he prepares to brush his teeth and do everything else that he usually does to get ready in the morning. 

“ _Yeah?_ ” Stiles halts in squeezing the toothpaste out of the tube. 

“Isaac?” he asks, wondering if he dialed the wrong number. But no, the display on his phone says ‘Scott.’ “Why do you have Scott’s phone?”

“ _Uhhhh…_ ” Stiles caps the toothpaste and puts it back in the cabinet, waiting for Isaac to try to come up with an answer while keeping in mind that Stiles will know if he lies. Stiles understands the feeling and in turn feels some sympathy for the wolf. 

“ _Hey, Stiles! What’s up?!_ ” Stiles snorts and runs his toothbrush under the water when Scott’s suspiciously chipper voice comes on the line. 

“Um, probably you and Isaac’s dicks if I had to hazard a guess,” Stiles answers, before sticking his toothbrush into his mouth. He tries not to choke on the suds when a laugh bubbles up in his throat at the ridiculous squawking noise that Scott makes at that. 

“ _What?! We’re not… We didn’t…_ ”

Stiles spits and rinses off his toothbrush before putting it away, then grabs his deodorant. “Don’t strain yourself there, buddy. You _know_ that I don’t have a problem with some man-on-man lovin’.” Scott makes a noise like a goose being strangled, and Stiles finishes up in the bathroom before heading back to his room to finish getting dressed. 

“What I _do_ have a problem with though is you not telling me how amazing blow jobs are. ‘Cause I gotta tell you, man… I would have been trying _much_ harder to get into Derek’s pants if I’d had any idea how good his mouth would feel wrapped around my cock.” 

Stiles finishes jamming his feet into his shoes and then thinks about grabbing a flannel to throw on over his t-shirt. Eventually he decides that he’s already too warm for that, and then heads downstairs and grabs a package of pop-tarts on his way out the door to wait for Derek on the porch. 

“Was Allison just bad at it or something?” he inquires around a mouthful of pure starch. “How about Isaac? Is he any better?”

Stiles knows that he’s being much more crude than he needs to be, but he can’t help laughing at how uncomfortable he knows he’s making Scott. Stiles figures he’s owed at least a little bit of payback from all the times he had to listen to Scott wax poetic on the subject of Allison’s dimples. 

Derek’s Camaro glides smoothly to a stop in Stiles’s driveway, and he skips down the porch steps to join his alpha in the car, cramming the last of the pop tarts in his mouth as he goes. When he gets in, Derek waits for Stiles to buckle his seatbelt before leaning over to give him a peck on the lips. 

“ _Scott has his fingers in his ears, Stiles. I think you’ve traumatized him enough for one day, don’t you?_ ” Isaac says, after presumably taking the phone back from Scott. 

“Is that Isaac?” Derek asks. Stiles nods and hands the phone over when Derek motions for him to do so. “Isaac, I want you and Scott to take over patrol from Erica and Boyd. Keep your focus on the Stilinski house, but no one should be there until later. Stiles will be with me, and the sheriff is on duty.” 

After Derek hangs up with Isaac and starts driving away, Stiles realizes that he doesn’t even know where they’re going or what they’ll be doing when they get there. He also realizes that he doesn’t care where they’re going or what they’ll be doing when they get there. Stiles is just happy to be back with his alpha – soaking up the scent of him and basking in the feeling of safety that just being with Derek seems to instill in him.

But the longer they’re in the car, the faster Stiles’s sense of tranquility begins to morph into a restless sort of heat that blooms beneath his skin and makes him want to climb into Derek’s lap and ride him like a champion racehorse. 

And with that thought in mind, Stiles pushes the button to roll the window down, hoping that the fresh air will help to clear his suddenly lust-addled brain. But it’s no good. The scent of his arousal is heavy, and all-encompassing, and he knows that Derek feels it too when the alpha gives him a smoldering look and stomps on the gas pedal. 

“Please tell me that we’re going back to your loft,” Stiles says, digging the pads of his fingers into his thighs and nobly resisting the urge to palm his rapidly hardening dick. The last thing they need right now is Derek crashing the car because Stiles is causing a distraction by jerking himself off in the passenger seat. 

“We are,” Derek replies. “And Peter is out getting his hair cut.” 

Ok, weird. But, “Good,” Stiles says. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Peter – or anyone else – being there. “That’s definitely good.” 

The drive from Stiles’s home to Derek’s really isn’t that far. Stiles knows this. But today the trip feels like a cross-country trek – a million metaphorical miles between where they are now and where Stiles wants to be… namely, in Derek’s bed. Naked. 

“So, this is a wolf thing, right?” Stiles asks. “The full moon is tomorrow and Erica said—Jesus, Derek, can’t you drive any faster?” Stiles loses the battle with his willpower and grips himself tightly through his jeans, even if just to relieve some of the pressure. 

“We’re almost there,” Derek assures him, taking a turn way too quickly. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…” Using his brain power to focus on speaking leaves Stiles’s hands free to pop the button on his jeans. But before he can tug the zipper down, Derek’s own hand grasps tightly at the nape of Stiles’s neck, distracting him for the time being. 

And that must be another wolf thing because it calms Stiles’s raging libido enough for him to slip his hands back down to grip the leather seat for dear life. 

He zones out for the remainder of the drive, but as soon as the Camaro skids to a halt, all bets are off. 

Stiles doesn’t even know how they make it all the way up to the loft without losing any articles of clothing along the way. Though once through the door, that changes pretty quickly. 

“Is it always like this around the full moon?” Stiles asks – as clearly as he can with Derek’s tongue shoved in his mouth. 

Shoes and socks are abandoned just inside the door, while their shirts make it at least halfway across the large, open space. “Sort of…” Derek hedges. 

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” Derek is distracted with tugging Stiles’s pants and underwear down, but he straightens and answers once Stiles kicks them away. 

“Well, it’s not usually quite this intense.” Derek begins a gentle assault of Stiles’s throat with his mouth, while making short work of his own remaining clothes. 

“Ok, hold on…” Stiles pushes Derek away with a hand on his chest – gently at first, but more roughly when the alpha doesn’t go easily. “Derek… Derek, wait.” 

Derek huffs in frustration. “Why?”

“Because, I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get your dick in me like, yesterday. And I’m a little worried about my motivations here.” Derek growls and his eyes flash red, and Stiles pushes him back farther still, even though he can feel an answering shine in his own amber eyes. “Just… stay over there by the bed while I go sit on the couch.” Derek’s growl turns into a snarl. “I need to make sure that I’m still capable of saying ‘no,’ Derek. Ok?”

Derek doesn’t speak, but the growling becomes subsonic and he nods his agreement – though not without taking up pacing back and forth like a caged, well… wolf. 

Stiles nods back and then goes to lie down on the couch. He looks up at the ceiling, thinking it will be easier to resist if he isn’t actually looking at Derek. But nothing can stop the alpha’s scent from taking up residence in his sinuses. And the sound of Derek’s heart beating just echoes the aching throb that Stiles can feel over the entire expanse of his nether-regions.

He grips the base of his cock in an attempt to stifle his lust, but his hole is still wanting to clench down around nothing – completely unconcerned that Stiles is considering shutting this whole thing down. “Maybe I should leave,” he suggests, not enthusiastically at all. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows that he has to at least consider it.

But his mind is made up for him, when instead of aggression, Stiles’s words cause Derek to radiate a sort of disappointed resignation. The alpha clenches his fists and stops pacing – going over to sit down on the edge of the bed. 

So Stiles completely disregards Derek when he quietly says, “Call and have Scott pick you up, if you think that’s best.” And then Stiles rushes back over to fling himself at Derek – knocking the alpha onto his back in the process. 

“Don’t listen to me. It was a terrible idea.” Derek’s blinding smile is soon replaced by some grade-A smoldering when Stiles leans down to kiss him. Letting himself get caught up in the moment, Stiles mentally surfaces again when he realizes that instead of a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, Derek is actually sniffing him all over – using his hands to maneuver Stiles’s body until he’s eventually face-down on the mattress with his ass in the air. 

“Uh… Derek? What are you – Motherfucker! That is your face in my ass!” Stiles squirms and Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’s hips to hold him still. 

“You smell good,” Derek informs him.

“What? I smel— _oh my God!_ And that’s your tongue!”

“You taste good too.” Stiles whimpers as Derek continues _licking his ass_ – his claws starting to lengthen where his fingers are clutching a pillow, and his breath picking up speed. After a couple of minutes, Derek pulls back and slides a spit-slick finger in where his tongue had just been, with almost no resistance. “Did you stretch yourself?” Derek asks, adding a second finger with ease. 

“No.” Derek’s fingers feel so good where they’re sliding in and out slowly – his thumb gently stretching the rim at the same time. “Why?” Stiles asks, when Derek makes a thoughtful noise. 

“Oh, uh, you’re really loose.” Stiles squawks at the perceived slight, but Derek just keeps talking. “And you’re… well, you’re slick.” 

“Of course I’m slick! You just had your tongue in my ass, Derek!” 

“No, it’s not… Nevermind.” Derek huffs and makes a dismissive noise. “It doesn’t matter.” He adds a third finger and Stiles gasps – finally starting to feel a slight burn from the stretch. 

But the discomfort is so fleeting that Stiles suspects Derek of using their constant physical contact to discretely drain away his pain. Which is sweet, really, but also not an attribute usually applied to Derek. It is self-sacrificing, though, which is _very_ Derek. 

Stiles squirms again – this time in an attempt to wiggle out of Derek’s hold so that he can flip himself over – but Derek growls and holds him more tightly. 

“Let me go, Sourwolf. I want to see you.” Derek loosens his hold, but doesn’t let go completely. And it takes several more minutes before Stiles’s face is no longer shoved into the mattress. 

Derek leans down to kiss him, but when he leans back up, Stiles wraps both arms and legs around Derek’s body and follows him up – eventually ending up pushing Derek down onto his back. Stiles straddles him, sitting down directly on his dick. And then he mentally files away the blissed-out look on his alpha’s face. 

“That’s better,” Stiles says. He rocks his hips back and forth, enjoying the smooth glide of Derek’s length between his cheeks. And Derek was right – it does feel slick. So slick in-fact, that when Stiles reaches a hand down to feel, he comes away with a smear of what feels kind of like lube when he rubs it between his fingers. 

It’s clear, so it’s obviously not blood, but it’s still weird. It just smells like his own scent – though it’s heavy with the scent of his arousal. And when he takes a curious lick, it’s not unpleasant. The action does seem to affect Derek though, because he surges up to a sitting position and kisses Stiles roughly before grabbing his hand and licking up every drop of the remaining substance on his fingers. 

And surprisingly, Stiles isn’t all that freaked out by this new development. The freak out will probably come later, he supposes – after his brain is no longer addled by the urge to come his brains out. Which is basically all he can think about right now. 

And even though his ass keeps clenching like it’s begging to be filled, old habits die hard. So instead of sinking down on Derek’s dick, Stiles reaches down to collect more of the slick substance that his body is apparently creating on its own, and then he uses it to ease the glide of his long fingers wrapping around both himself and Derek. 

Derek whines, clearly not completely satisfied with the turn of events. His hands come around to squeeze Stiles’s ass, and then he slips a couple of fingers inside, growling contentedly when Stiles’s hole clenches around them. 

Stiles tips his head back and groans at the pleasure, forgetting almost completely about what his own hand is supposed to be doing. “Do you like that, pup?” Derek whispers into his throat – sucking bruises that will fade before Stiles even gets a chance to see them. Which is a shame, really. “Do you like feeling me inside you?”

“Yes…” Stiles admits. “Yes… yes… yes…” Stiles lets his hips pick up a rocking rhythm again, until he’s riding Derek’s fingers with wild abandon, and panting like a marathon runner. 

He finally focuses enough to remember that Derek is being sadly neglected, so he displaces Derek’s fingers long enough to slick up his own, and then grips Derek tightly before jerking him off in time to his own rocking movements. 

“ _Stiles…_ Can I… Let me…” Derek removes his fingers and grasps tightly to Stiles’s hips, trying to pull him closer even though they really can’t get any closer unless they—

“Derek! What the— There’s something wrong with your dick!”

“What?” Stiles scoots back so that there’s a good amount of space between their bodies – enough space so that they can both see the unusual swelling near the base of Derek’s penis. 

“What is that?! Should we take you to the hospital?” Stiles hand grazes the bulbous protrusion and Derek shudders. “Oh my God! Are you dying?!” 

“No! I’m not dying. Stiles, calm down. It’s ok.” Stiles doesn’t see how strange changes to your dick can ever be considered ‘ok,’ but he tries to relax as much as he can. Derek isn’t freaking out, so he probably shouldn’t either. “It’s just my knot.” 

“I’m sorry… your _what_?” Stiles touches it again and Derek moans, tightening his grip on Stiles’s hips and thrusting upwards. “Has this ever happened before?” 

“No,” Derek says, breathing shallowly. “It only happens with alphas, and only near the full moon. And this is the first time I’ve been in a situation like this as an alpha.” 

“What is it for? Does it hurt?” Stiles’s light touches seem welcome, but he wants to be sure. 

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” Derek keeps thrusting his hips minutely every time Stiles’s fingers rub over the knot. “It’s for… _Tighter, Stiles, squeeze it…_ It’s to help insure impregnation. It swells enough to lock inside a partner – keeping the come inside and making sure the partner can’t have sex with anyone else for a while.” 

“But I’m a dude! I can’t even get pregnant!” Stiles exclaims.

“Well, my dick doesn’t know that!” Derek snarks back. He’s frustrated, Stiles can tell. And well, it’s not like there’s anything Derek can do about it. So Stiles files it away to think about later, with his own body’s sudden quirk, and doubles his efforts to get them back on track.

“What do you want, Derek? Hm? Do you want me to suck you off? I bet I could get my mouth all the way around your knot. Would you like that?” Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’s shoulder and shakes his head while sneaking his hand back down to run his fingers over Stiles’s wet hole. Ok, so it’s pretty obvious what Derek wants. 

But is that what Stiles wants? He thinks about it – wondering if taking Derek’s knot will be more than he can handle. He knows that he trusts Derek, but he isn’t sure if the alpha will be able to stop if it becomes too much for Stiles. 

Deciding that he wants to take the chance, Stiles coaxes Derek back down and positions himself so that he’s slightly hovering over Derek’s lap. “You’ll have to help me,” he says, meeting Derek’s gaze with a look that he hopes isn’t quite as vulnerable as he feels. He can do this… he knows he can. 

Derek grasps himself with one hand and guides Stiles’s hips with the other until he can feel the head putting pressure on his entrance. “Just go slowly,” Derek tells him. 

“Ok, yeah… slowly…” Stiles has never had anything larger than Derek’s fingers inside of him before, so there’s some anxiety making him tense. He forces himself to relax, knowing that it will help, well, everything really. 

The initial physical resistance is the most difficult part. Once the head slips past his rim, it’s much easier than he thought it’d be to sink down almost all the way. He stops when he reaches Derek’s knot – not sure if he quite ready for that yet. 

“Oh God, _Stiles…_ You feel so good.” Stiles’s eyes flash at the praise, and he leans down to kiss Derek while his body adjusts to the intrusion. “Are you ok?” Derek asks, while they share each other’s breaths. 

Stiles nods, whispers, “Yes,” and then leans back up with his hands on Derek’s perfect pectorals to give him leverage to begin fucking himself on Derek’s dick. 

It’s nothing like he always imagined his first time would be. And it wouldn’t be, of course, seeing as for so long he had imagined his first time being with Lydia. He doesn’t regret it though – doesn’t even wish that he could have the opportunity to compare and contrast. Derek is perfect. And Stiles feels safe and cared for. And he enjoys that feeling. He always wants to feel that way. 

He picks up speed for a while – enjoying the feel of Derek’s hands caressing his skin. But he slows when Derek licks his hand and reaches down to start stroking Stiles slowly. The added pleasure makes Stiles clench, and when he moves again he realizes that he’s even more wet than he’d been before – his slick dripping down his thighs as he moans. 

“Do you think you can go down all the way, baby?” Derek asks, placing his hands back on Stiles’s hips. “Can you take my knot?” 

“Mmhmm…” Stiles nods in the affirmative, way past the point of coherency, and lets himself be guided down firmly. It’s tight – tighter than anything ever has been before. But once fully seated, Stiles is more than happy. The knot rubs against his prostate relentlessly, and even though his dick is being completely ignored, he knows that it won’t be long before he comes. “Derek… I’m close…”

Apparently that’s as much as Derek can handle of Stiles being in control, because at those words, Derek flips them, kisses Stiles roughly, and grinds his knot relentlessly against Stiles’s prostate until Stiles comes. 

Stiles’s fangs begin to descend, the urge to bite Derek more intense than ever before. But fortunately he gets distracted by the feel of Derek’s knot swelling even more – the alpha’s hips stuttering to a halt as he throws his head back and snarls, red eyes pinning Stiles with their intensity. 

He thinks he might be crushed under Derek’s dead weight when the alpha slumps down on Stiles’s chest. It wouldn’t be the worst way to die, he thinks. But instead, Derek slips his arms underneath Stiles’s torso and flips their positions again – content to let Stiles lie down on top of him like he weighs nothing. 

It’s only quite a while later – when Derek’s knot goes down enough for him to slip free – that Stiles registers the purring noise that he’s making while he snuggles his face into the curve of Derek’s shoulder. 

He feels completely sated, and much calmer than he’s used to. And when he lifts his head he’s not quite prepared for the look of pure adoration that he sees on Derek’s face. It’s a look that he’s never seen on the alpha before, and it gives him hope. Hope that maybe he can do this – that maybe he can live the rest of his life as a part of this fucked up world of horror and strife and supernatural creatures – if only he has Derek there to look at him like that. 

“Hey…” he whispers. “So… that happened.” And congratulations on the world’s most awkward post-sex ‘speech,’ Stiles thinks to himself. 

Instead of answering, Derek kisses him and guides him gently onto his back, where he proceeds to clean Stiles up with his tongue. Stiles dozes, reveling in the careful attention and the continued feeling of bliss. 

“Do you want to shower?” Derek asks when he’s done. Stiles knows that he should – he still feels sticky even with the tongue-bath. But with the full moon so close, Stiles feels the need to stay covered in Derek’s scent. So he settles on a wet washcloth while Derek goes to take an actual shower. 

Stiles considers taking a nap – he’s so comfortable that it would be very easy to just lie still and slip into unconsciousness. But then he remembers the note from Duke, and he decides to go back to reading the Hale bestiary instead. 

Peter’s laptop is surprisingly sitting on the coffee table, and even more surprisingly it’s not password protected. There’s still no internet connection, and Stiles doesn’t have any way to save the document externally. He considers venturing into Peter’s lair (he doesn’t care that it’s actually just a bedroom – Stiles still considers Peter a villain, and villains have lairs) to look for a memory stick, but he doesn’t want to go up their without Derek, so maybe later.

After redressing and grabbing another one of the iced coffees that Derek had stocked for him, Stiles settles on the comfy new couch and brings up the document. Besides, he can’t believe that the section on mating had never mentioned knotting, and he wants to go over it again. 

Re-reading it for probably the fourth or fifth time, Stiles realizes something that makes his blood run cold… There are pages missing. Some organizationally-minded soul had added numbers to the bottom corner of each page, and right in the middle of the mating section there are two pages missing. 

The deception is almost seamless, and for a couple of minutes he wonders if the person copying down the info had just made a mistake. But this is Peter. And if there’s one thing that Stiles knows for sure, it’s that Peter _cannot_ be trusted. 

He takes up pacing the floor to help himself think. Stiles doesn’t want to consider that Derek might know about the missing pages. He’s never seen the alpha read it, and he knows that Derek is generally clueless a lot of the time. But he had had no trouble explaining his knot when Stiles had asked him about it, so there _is_ a possibility that he knows more than he’s saying, regardless of how much it hurts Stiles to believe it. 

“What’s wrong? Stiles, did something happen?” Derek’s voice pulls Stiles out of his internal spiral of misery – the alpha walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and very concerned eyebrows. 

“Have you read the Hale bestiary, Derek?” Derek’s concern turns to confusion while he walks over to retrieve a set of clothes from the drawers under his bed. 

“Parts of it,” he answers truthfully. “Mostly when I was a kid though. After the fire, Laura and I had thought it was lost. It was only recently that I learned Peter had saved a copy. Why?”

Stiles carries the laptop over to the bed where Derek is sitting and pulling socks on his feet. “Have you read this section?” he asks, handing over the computer. 

A slight blush reaches Derek’s cheeks when he nods which, oh God, adorable. But back to the point… 

“Notice anything amiss?” It doesn’t take long for Derek to scan through the whole section, twice. 

“The part about knotting is missing, maybe more. I don’t really remember.” 

“Exactly! There are pages missing, Derek. And maybe they were accidentally left out in transcription, but this is Peter we’re talking about. So—”

“So he probably took them out for a reason,” Derek finishes for him. Stiles nods like a bobblehead and starts pacing again. The loft still carries Peter’s scent and it’s putting Stiles on edge. 

“Peter always has a plan… _always_.” Stiles says. “Why would he not want me to read about knotting?”

“Maybe he thought I wouldn’t tell you?” 

“So what though? I’d find out eventually anyway, I don’t think he’d do that just for shits and giggles. No… there must be something else on those pages that he doesn’t want me to know. Can you remember what else is missing?” 

Derek shakes his head in the negative and Stiles tries not to think that might be his way of lying without Stiles being able to tell. Derek has been a wolf all his life – if anyone is an expert at coming up with clever ways to lie, it’s got to be him. 

“Give me your phone.” Derek narrows his eyes but eventually hands it over. Stiles rolls his eyes at the fact that he doesn’t even have it password protected, then opens up his texts and finds a thread between he and Peter. 

_Why are there pages missing from the bestiary?_

He presses send and waits to see if Peter will reply. Derek doesn’t seem nervous, just curious. And he doesn’t even ask to see what Stiles said.

**Whatever do you mean, nephew?**

Ok, that answer is somewhat heartening. At least it doesn’t appear as though Derek already knew about this. 

_There are pages missing. I know you know this. Where are they?_

There, that answer seems short and clipped enough to be from Derek.

**They’re gone forever. I accidentally deleted them. Sorry, my mistake.**

And that might have fooled Derek, but Stiles knows better. 

_Bullshit. Get them back to Stiles, ASAP._

Stiles tosses the phone back to Derek and puts on his shoes. “Let’s go,” he says. “Peter’s scent is putting me on edge and I want to go home.” Stiles just wants to get away from the beta’s cloying scent and back to his own house where it smells like family. He’ll have to put in a more concerted effort at cleaning his room. And he might also have to get Derek to rub up on all of his stuff to cover the scent of the intruding alpha, but he doesn’t care right now. He just wants to get away from here.

The ride back is much more subdued than the ride there had been. The combined scents of their arousal still linger in the air and the upholstery, but the urgent physical need isn’t there anymore – sated, at least for a while, by their activities at the loft. 

Stiles is even starting to get comfortable. Derek has laced their fingers together and there’s a soft smile on his lips.

That is, until the sirens start to sound and Stiles looks back to see a sheriff’s department cruiser directly behind them. 

And he can see the driver too… It’s his father.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, that cliffhanger was intentional. 
> 
> Sorry, not sorry. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Derek POV in the first half of this chapter, then back to Stiles after the break.

“This is never going to work,” Derek whispers to the blanketed figure crouching in the backseat. 

“There’s that positivity that I love so much, Sourwolf! Have you ever considered a career as a motivational speaker?” Stiles whispers back. Surprisingly, Stiles’s sarcasm doesn’t register as a lie. It’s an interesting quirk that Derek has never really had the time or energy to contemplate. 

The next moment both are quiet while Derek watches in the side mirror as his doom walks steadily toward him in a khaki uniform. He knows those aren’t wolfsbane bullets in Sheriff Stilinski’s sidearm, but it will still hurt like hell if Stiles’s father decides to shoot him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hale. May I see your license and proof of insurance, please?” Ok, so he’s not being instantly combative. Maybe that’s a good sign? 

Derek digs the cards out of his wallet and hands them over with only slightly shaking fingers. He’s surprised when the sheriff doesn’t go back to his cruiser to pull Derek’s license information up on his computer, but he probably shouldn’t be. If Derek had to guess, he’d say that the man probably has all of the information memorized by now.

The sheriff tucks Derek’s license and insurance card into his own breast pocket, then widens his stance and places his hands on his hips, right hand perilously close to his gun holster. “Do you know why I pulled you over today, Derek?” 

Derek hesitates, wondering exactly how much is riding on his answer, and if there is actually a chance in hell that sheriff Stilinski won’t notice his only child hiding like a stowaway in Derek’s backseat. 

Honestly terrified as to how to handle this situation, Derek decides to plead ignorance. “No, sir. I don’t.” _Fucking coward,_ he thinks to himself. 

Stilinski rocks back and forth on his heals like a very stereotypical depiction of every police officer ever. But he doesn’t say anything for at least one whole minute, which usually wouldn’t be a problem for the alpha. After all, Derek makes it his life’s mission to win confrontations with the force of his stare alone.

But he knows that won’t work this time. And he also knows that his alternative methods of getting people to do what he wants them to do won’t work either. The sheriff is unlikely to be swayed by either physical confrontation or Derek’s winning smile. 

So he waits patiently with his hands on the steering wheel and his gaze calmly fixed in the vicinity of Stilinski’s shiny gold sheriff’s badge. 

“Well, I clocked you going fifteen miles over the speed limit…” Lie. He was going five miles over, max. “…And I also noticed that you aren’t wearing your safety belt.” Ok, not a lie. And Derek can already hear the ‘I told you so’ he’ll get from Stiles later – even though the hypocrite isn’t very good at all about his own vehicle safety procedures. 

After a few moments, Derek realized that Stilinski is waiting for him to make some sort of response, so he looks up. “I didn’t realize that, sir. I apologize.” 

The sheriff narrows his eyes. “Have you been drinking today, Mr. Hale?” Derek wants to laugh. Really, truly burst out laughing like he hasn’t done since before the fire. He _wishes_ that was the worst thing he’s done today was drinking and driving. 

“No, sir, Sheriff.” The man’s expression doesn’t change, but Derek can see the rapid calculations going on in Stilinski’s light blue eyes. The eyes themselves bear almost no resemblance to his son’s, but the intelligent, quick-wittedness is exactly the same – which is very disconcerting in the present situation. 

“So you wouldn’t mind proving that to me, now would you?” 

“…No…?” Derek can’t help his hesitation… or the way his inflection makes his statement sound like a question. Shit. Way to make the other man completely aware of just how much of an advantage he has over Derek. And that’s a profoundly uncomfortable realization to make for an alpha werewolf. 

“Please step out of the vehicle, Mr. Hale.” 

Derek has _never_ felt more wrong-footed than he does at this moment. His instinct is telling him to throw the car into gear and stomp on the gas – drive away from this man who is forcing him away from his… from Stiles, and potentially threatening the future of his pack. 

But he knows that if he does that, his chances of ever counting himself amongst those in the sheriff’s good graces are almost completely nonexistent. So instead he carefully pops the door open and slowly exits the vehicle. 

“Do you have anything on your person right now that could be used as a weapon?” Derek considers popping his claws and dropping his fangs, but really only in a fit of madness. 

“No, sir.” 

“Please turn around and place your hands on the hood of the vehicle.” Shit, shit, shit. Maybe he’s just going to arrest Derek after all.

Derek turns and does as he’s asked, making sure to block the sheriff’s view of the backseat, and only grunting slightly when the man kicks Derek’s feet shoulder-width apart. The pat-down is quick, but thorough. And while the impact doesn’t affect Derek like it would if he were human, he can still register the strength in the sheriff’s overly rough motions. 

“Turn around and step away from the vehicle, please.” Derek does, considering once again making a break for it. “Mr. Hale, I’d like you to please keep your head still and focus on the tip of this pen while I move it back and forth.” 

Oh, so he’s giving Derek a sobriety test. He knows that the sheriff’s cruiser is equipped with a breathalyzer, but he also knows that Stilinski will likely take enjoyment in doing this the more humiliating way. 

And he also knows that he wants very much to growl and flash his eyes at a certain infuriating sparkwolf that’s snickering quietly right now in the back of the Camaro. Though he manages to control himself enough not to.

“So, Derek, my son tells me that he was spending some time at your home yesterday.” Derek’s eyes snap to Stilinski’s. “Eyes on the pen, please.” 

Derek tries to think of what to say, while also continuing to focus on the pen. He decides to keep it simple. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, now I’m going to ask you to take nine steps in a straight line, walking heel to toe.” Derek turns around and starts walking away from the sheriff, not at all happy about having to turn his back on the perceived threat. “Now when you’ve taken those nine steps, turn on your heel and walk back the same way.”

Derek’s balance is impeccable, of course, but it’s difficult to concentrate when under this kind of pressure. 

“Can you remind me again how old you are, Mr. Hale?” Derek turns on his heel and trips over his first step back, though he recovers quickly… physically, that is. And he knows that the sheriff knows the answer to his question. He was _just_ looking at Derek’s license for fuck’s sake. 

“I’m twenty three.” Derek comes to a stop about two feet away from the sheriff – much closer than he feels comfortable with, honestly. But instead of a well-timed reminder about the age of consent in the state of California (which Derek fully expects), Stilinski just nods his head and hums contemplatively. 

“Now lastly, I want you to stand with one foot about six inches off the ground.” Derek does, knowing full well how ridiculous he looks. “Now start counting by ones, starting with ‘one one-thousand.’ Think you can do that, Mr. Hale?” 

Derek starts counting and the sheriff holds up his wrist to watch the seconds tick by. Though he only glances at it briefly before locking eyes with Derek and refusing to look away. “… one one-thousand… uh… si-sixteen… one one-thousand seventeen…”

The higher the count, the more nervous Derek feels. The only time the sheriff breaks eye contact is to cut his gaze over to the Camaro, and then right back to Derek again. Eventually the alpha starts to feel droplets of sweat starting to form on his brow, and he really is starting to think that he’s going to be dodging some bullets pretty soon.

“Alright, Mr. Hale, you can stop now.” Derek quiets and sets his foot back on the ground. “Now, I’m going to let you go with a warning this time if you promise to be more careful in the future.”

The sheriff returns Derek's licence and insurance card, and they walk back toward the Camaro together. But once there, Derek hesitates, wanting to wait to get back in the car until the sheriff walks away. “I promise, Sheriff.” 

“Well, ok, then.” Stilinski pats Derek on the shoulder and smiles broadly. Derek can’t help but smile back. He can’t believe it worked! “Oh, just one last thing, Derek…” 

“Yes, sir?” 

Instead of addressing Derek directly, the sheriff removes his hand from the alpha’s shoulder and reaches past him to open the driver-side door, where he then leans his head in and says, “Do you really think that I don’t know you’re in there? Get out of the car, Stiles.” 

**FUCK.** Derek doesn’t think. He’s acting purely on instinct when he grabs the sheriff’s arm to pull him away from Stiles. “Sheriff, please, this isn’t—”

But of course he should have thought about the fact that the man is a trained law enforcement agent, as well as ex-military. Because once again, Derek’s poorly thought out actions result in him being slammed up against his own car with his arm twisted up painfully behind his back. 

“If you are even _thinking_ about telling me that this isn’t what it looks like, Mr. Hale, I swear to God you are going to find yourself in handcuffs before you can blink!” 

“Dad! Dad, stop! Stop!” Derek holds still and also holds his tongue while Stiles tries to hold his father back without him knowing how easy it actually is for him now. “Dad, let him go!”

“Stiles, get in the cruiser,” the sheriff says.

“No!”

“Stiles, listen to your father,” Derek says, and then he grunts in pain when the sheriff twists his arm up higher. This isn’t going at all like he’d hoped. 

“No! Not until he lets you go, Derek.” 

They seem to be at an impasse for another few moments, and then suddenly the sheriff steps back and Derek is free.

“Stiles, go get in the cruiser. And you…” Derek tries not to flinch when the sheriff points a finger right in his face. The anger emanating from the man is thick and potent, and it raises Derek’s hackles as much as it makes his gums itch with the urge to drop his fangs. “Get back in your car and _go_.”

Instead of immediately following orders, Derek looks to Stiles first – wanting, above all things, to make sure that Stiles is ok. He’s distressed – that’s for sure – but he nods adamantly and starts walking backwards towards the sheriff’s cruiser. “Go. I’ll talk to you later.” 

With one last, longing look, Derek gets back in his car, fastens his goddamned fucking _safety belt_ and drives away. He wants to drive strait to the Stilinski house, because he knows that’s where Stiles will be, but he doesn’t want to risk his car being seen anywhere nearby. 

So instead he tries not to break the steering wheel in a fit of useless rage while he drives to his family’s old home. After bringing the car to a stop, Derek jumps out and strips as quickly as possible before completing a full shift and heading out at a run through the preserve. 

He hides when he gets to the tree line at the back of the Stilinski property, because Stiles and his father are just arriving home. They’re both silent, but the tension could be cut with a knife. And Derek doesn’t even need to be a werewolf to know that – the slam of the front door is clear enough. 

“I certainly hope you don’t think you’re going to get out of this without a conversation, young man.”

Derek wiggles behind a bush that is situated underneath the kitchen window and lies down on his belly. It’s the best position to stay hidden while still being able to hear what’s being said. Because if nothing else, Derek knows that he’s going to want to hear what’s about to be said. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Stiles has been fighting rising panic for the last ten minutes. Thankfully, now that they’re home, he’s able to register the sound of Derek’s heartbeat just outside the house. It’s faster than usual – much faster – so he must be in his wolf form. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, ok? It was just a joke!” 

“No! Don’t _do_ that, Stiles!” Stiles takes a seat at the kitchen table, just to have a place to hide his hands. He’s barely keeping it together right now, and there’s not much he can do about his claws starting to pop out. His emotions are all over the place – he’s swinging between anger and fear every couple of minutes, and it’s doing nothing to help him control his shift. “Don’t try and act like you aren’t hiding something from me.”

“It was just a joke! Derek didn’t even want to do it, but I thought it would be funny.” 

“But why were you even with him?” Stiles’s dad doesn’t often stick to his guns, so to speak, when arguing with his son. More often he puts up a token fuss and then eventually lets it go. But Stiles can already tell that this is one subject that won’t be dropped quickly or easily. 

And this is exactly the kind of question that may catch Stiles up further down the line. It’s an interrogation, plain and simple. 

“We were going to meet up with Scott and Isaac.” That’s probably a safe enough answer. As far as Stiles knows, Scott and Isaac are still out on patrol somewhere and presumably nowhere near Melissa, who would definitely go telling tales to his dad. 

“Sure, ok. But where had you been before that? Because you were coming from the other end of town.” Damn it. He’s right. Keep it simple… keep it simple, Stiles!

“Well, he picked me up and then realized he had forgotten his phone, so we went back to his loft to get it. That’s it.” There. Very plausible. His dad shouldn’t have any trouble believing that.

But instead of understanding and acceptance, his dad looks concerned and disappointed. “You know, Stiles… Lying may be second nature to you by now, but what I really want to know is _why_ you’re lying.” And that hurts. Not because his dad is accusing him of being a chronic liar, but because his accusation is unfortunately true, especially as of late. “I honestly don’t even know what I should be concerned about here.” 

“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Stiles lies. “And why do you just assume that I’m lying?” Because he hasn’t said anything yet that could be proven wrong… at least he hopes. 

“It’s not an assumption, Stiles. Deputy Parrish saw the two of you driving away from our house over two hours ago.” Derek growls low enough so the sheriff won’t hear him, and Stiles wonders how close Jordan had been – if he’d been close enough to the house to see he and Derek kiss or not. “I find it hard to believe that it took you two hours to get there and back. So why are you lying?”

The stress of his current situation is starting to really wear on Stiles for some reason, and he decides to forfeit a little bit of truth for hopefully a little reprieve in this interrogation. No wonder his dad is so good at his job. “Fine. I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

“I’m all ears, Stiles. And no matter what it is, I promise to try to be understanding. But you have to be honest with me, son.” 

Ugh, this is never going to be easy. Stiles takes a deep breath. “I asked him to pick me up early because… because I like him, ok? I wanted to spend more time with him.”

“You like him,” the sheriff repeats. 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, it turns out that my wardrobe isn’t actually an indicator of my sexual identity after all.” His dad sighs and wipes a hand down over his face. He looks exhausted, and it just adds to the perpetual feelings of guilt that Stiles deals with all the time. 

“Stiles, look… It’s not that he’s a guy. That’s not the problem.” Stiles wants to cry that his father considers his feelings for Derek to be a problem. “The problem is that he’s twenty three years old. I don’t think that you spending time with him is a good idea.”

No. Not acceptable. Not at all. 

“Ok, so what then? Am I not allowed to spend time with Isaac either, because he’s living with Derek? And what about Scott? Because I can tell you right now that Scott is going to be spending a lot of his time with Isaac. Do you want me to be completely alone the whole summer?” 

The guilt trip is a low blow, Stiles knows. But he thinks it might be working.

“No, that’s not what I want. Of course not, Stiles.” The sheriff sighs. “How about this… Get him to come have dinner with us tonight and I’ll reserve judgment until after I learn more about him.” 

“Are you serious?” Stiles scoffs. “You want me to invite him here so that you can question him? Do you really think he’s going to be very keen on having you interrogate him again?” 

“You bet your ass I’m serious.” Stiles can tell that his father is trying to control his anger and frustration, but right now a lot of it is bleeding through. “And if he has an issue with submitting to my questioning, then problem solved! It’s this or nothing, Stiles.” 

Stiles hears Derek whine at the threat, and he understands the feeling completely. All he really wants to do right now is shift and run outside to join him. He misses his alpha already. 

“Ok, ok! Fine! But I get to choose what we eat.” Truth be told, Stiles could kill for a steak right now. Just the thought of it is making his mouth water slightly. And besides, Stiles-approved red meat consumption is bound to make his dad more likely to be agreeable. But that means he’ll need to go to the store. His father realizes this and hands over some cash.

“There and back, Stiles,” his dad cautions as Stiles heads to the door. “If Scott wants to see you today, he can come here.”

Stiles wants to scream in frustration at being told what to do. Today of all days probably isn’t the best time to test Stiles’s control. He’ll just have to try extra hard to hold it all back. “I’ll tell him!” he shouts on his way out. 

His dad follows – presumably to make sure that Stiles is getting into the Jeep instead of Derek’s Camaro. But from his vantage point, the sheriff can’t see Derek’s wolf peeking out of the bushes next to the garage. So Stiles points his head in the direction that he’s planning on taking for Derek to follow, and then gets in the Jeep and starts it up. 

He barely makes it out of view of his house before he pulls to the side of the road and leans over to pop the passenger side door. And of course Derek wastes no time before leaping up into the seat and bestowing Stiles with a plethora of slobbering wolf kisses. 

“Yeah, I know, Derek. Me too.” Stiles doesn’t need to hear the words to know that Derek is afraid of losing him. Because Stiles is feeling those exact same fears. Though Stiles has one advantage over Derek right now… “We’re going to need to get you some pants,” he says, laughing weakly.


	12. Chapter 12

“Why does steak have to be so expensive?” Stiles wonders aloud, his mouth watering at the sight of some prime T-bones. His stomach rumbles with hunger and he really regrets skipping lunch. “How about burgers?”

Stiles turns to Derek questioningly, and isn’t really surprised to see the concerned look on his face. Stiles is concerned about what’s going to happen with his dad too.

But what does surprise him is when Derek asks the guy behind the counter to package up three, thickly-cut, grass-fed T-bones, and then tosses them in their cart like it’s nothing. 

“Dude! That’s like fifty dollars’ worth of meat! That’s more than I’ve got to pay for the whole meal!” He goes to take the steaks out of the cart – prepared for a really uncomfortable conversation with the meat counter guy – when Derek stops him.

“It’s fine, Stiles. I have money.” 

“You have money?” 

“Yes, of course I have money. How do you think I pay for my own food? Or anything else for that matter?” Derek takes control of the cart and starts walking towards the produce department, so Stiles follows. 

“Honestly, I’ve tried not to think about it too much.” Derek cocks an interrogative brow, urging Stiles to elaborate while he picks out potatoes and ingredients for a salad. “To be fair, Derek, when we first met, you didn’t try very hard to convince us that you weren’t actually the one who bit Scott and—” Stiles cuts himself off and pretends to be very interested a bunch of radishes. He doesn’t even _like_ radishes. 

“And what?” Derek asks. He takes the radishes out of Stiles’s hands and puts them back, then forces Stiles’s face up to meet his eyes. Stiles swallows, not wanting to open up that particular can of worms right now. But Derek doesn’t seem inclined to drop it. 

Stiles sighs. “And… well, Laura, you know? We thought…” 

“That I killed Laura,” Derek finishes. 

Stiles remembers how Derek had painstakingly buried his sister next to the burned remains of the home they had shared before everything when to Hell. He and Scott had felt completely justified at the time, but looking back, Stiles can’t help but feel a profound sense of shame for what they had done. He tries to imagine someone disturbing his mother’s grave like that and the thought is a physical pain that he feels just behind his breastbone. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says quietly. “I’m so sorry, Derek. We shouldn’t have—”

Derek shushes him and gathers Stiles into his arms so that his nose is tucked up close to Derek’s throat. Stiles can scent his grief, but it’s tempered by scents of contentment and affection that he feels towards Stiles. “It’s ok,” Derek murmurs. “I forgive you.” 

“But how?! How can you?” Stiles asks, shocked. 

“Stiles, you did what you did because you cared about who killed Laura, right?” Stiles nods. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was the main one. “How can I stay mad at you for that?” 

“Well, until very recently, I just figured that being mad at me was like, your resting state or something.” Derek smirks at that for some reason and Stiles still can’t believe that he can make Derek Hale do anything even closely resembling a smile. It’s weird, ok?

“And what does all this have to do with me having money?” Derek inquires. 

Oh, right, there was a point to all this, wasn’t there? “Well,” Stiles begins. “I guess I figured that if you were ok with murder, then you probably weren’t too averse to knocking over liquor stores or snatching old lady’s purses on the street or whatever.” 

“And now?” Derek asks. “Do you still think I fill up my gas tank with money snatched from poor, old grandmothers?” 

“No! No, of course not.” And Stiles knows that his next assumption is probably just as ridiculous. He also knows that Derek isn’t going to let him not say it. “Ugh, fine… After I got to know you better, and after I saw first-hand your skills in the art of distraction at the sheriff’s station…” Derek smirks again in remembrance. “… I thought that whenever you needed something, you’d just pull out that megawatt smile that you hoard like gold and people would then fall all over themselves to give you whatever you want.” 

Derek smiles – big and bright and even more radiant than Stiles remembers – and Stiles just melts. For about three seconds, that is. Then he quickly realizes that he’s being worked on, so he smacks Derek in the chest and huffs off to the bakery section. His dad loves coffee cake. 

Derek follows, slotting himself up against Stiles’s back as he contemplates cherry vs apple. “You know that probably won’t work on the cashiers here. At least not if I’m with you,” Stiles tells him. He finally decides on cherry and sets the box into the cart, but when he tries to move away from the display, Derek snags him about the waist and buries his face into the side of Stiles’s neck, scenting slowly. 

“I have actual money, Stiles… More than I’ll ever want or need.” Stiles is listening. He really is. But he finds concentrating somewhat difficult when their close proximity makes it more than obvious that finances aren’t actually what’s on either of their minds right now. And this is absolutely not the time or place for this. 

Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, their amorous moment is interrupted by a very familiar feminine voice. “Now, now, Stiles,” Lydia says from their left. “No sex in the bakery department… at least not until after hours.” 

“Lydia! Hey!” Stiles tries once more to step away from Derek, but he only ends up moving about an inch before he’s yanked back even closer than he’d been before. Derek growls lowly and Stiles rolls his eyes. Then Danny walks up to join them and the growling increases. 

“Hey, guys,” Danny says, obviously unsure about the whole situation. Then the next second, Derek has released him and is standing in front of Stiles’s friends, sniffing around so close to them that they both take a step back, wide-eyed and confused. 

Stiles pulls on Derek’s arm, trying to yank him back without any success. “What are you doing, Derek? You’re freaking them out!” 

“They smell like the alphas,” Derek insists, and yeah, now that Derek mentions it, Stiles can detect the scent of the two alphas that cornered him in the locker room. “Why do you smell like that?” Derek implores. “Where are they?”

“Who?!” Lydia squawks when Derek gets _way_ too close – his eyebrows of doom in full force. Her heart is beating hummingbird fast. She’s scared of Derek, and Stiles is starting to be scared for her, so he steps in-between the two and faces Derek head-on.

“Come on, Sourwolf. Let’s take it down a notch. They obviously don’t know what you mean.” Derek is still staring at Lydia over Stiles’s shoulder, but a well-placed nuzzle brings his attention back to Stiles. “Use your words, Derek. Lydia and Danny aren’t a threat.” 

“Stiles,” Danny begins. “What’s going on?”

“That double date you and Lydia went on?” Danny nods. “Were they identical twins?”

“How did you know that?” Danny asks. 

“They’re werewolves – alphas that are also part of an all-alpha pack,” Stiles explains. “They’re bad news, guys. I’d recommend staying far away from them.” 

Lydia and Danny look both shocked and worried. Good, Stiles thinks. At least they’re paying attention. 

“Are they here?” Derek asks, looking ready to take off sprinting through the store in pursuit. 

“No,” Lydia says. “We’re supposed to meet up with them for dinner in half an hour.” 

“Let’s go.” Derek abandons the cart and stalks away, apparently expecting the other three to follow. 

“Derek, stop!” A hand on his bicep gets Derek to halt and look at Stiles. “Remember our plans? I have to go straight home from here and my dad expects you there for dinner. We can’t just drop everything and confront them right now!”

“I can’t just ignore the fact that I know where they’re going to be, Stiles. They’re a threat to you!” Derek flexes his fingers, the urge to shift obvious in his restless stance. 

“I know. But Derek, you heard my dad – If you want even the slightest chance of him being ok with this…” Stiles gestures between the two of them. “… then you _have_ to be at dinner.” Derek makes an extremely disgruntled face. “I know, I hate it too, but please, Derek… I need you to be there.”

Stiles feels like such a horrible person. He knows that this is the best chance they’ve had at gaining an upper hand over the alpha pack. But even so, he can’t find it in himself to do anything about it. 

His dad wasn’t joking when he said that missing dinner would be enough to make up his mind about Derek, so he’s got to be there. But he also doesn’t want any of the rest of the pack going without them. Stiles wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything but worry if they did, and he suspects that Derek feels the same way. 

Derek looks like he’s going to argue, but Stiles isn’t above playing dirty, so he steps in close, bares his neck, and whines softly. “ _Please_ , Derek…” 

Derek leans down to scent Stiles’s throat and rumbles softly in response. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he calmly walks back to where Lydia and Danny are still standing and takes back possession of their abandoned cart. 

“So I take it we should probably cancel our dates?” Danny asks hesitantly. 

“It’s likely that they’re going out with you in an attempt to get closer to Stiles. Or to get information about him,” Derek tells them. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust them.”

Danny looks downtrodden, but Lydia just looks resigned. Stiles feels sympathy for her – this year has been almost as hard on her as it’s been on Stiles. “Come on, Danny. Let’s leave them to their werewolf business,” she says, obviously irritated. “We can head up to my family’s lake house until this all blows over. I know where my parents keep the key to the liquor cabinet. Let’s go get drunk and forget about boys.” 

None of them bother mentioning that Danny _is_ a boy. They all know what she means anyway, and Derek and Stiles need to be heading back soon. 

Though, as they watch Danny and Lydia heading toward the front of the store, Stiles does feel somewhat better knowing that the two will be out of town soon, and away from the most imminent of dangers. 

“We just need a couple more things,” Stiles says, before leading Derek in the opposite direction. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is that red meat that I smell?” Stiles looks up from where he just flipped the steaks and turns his attention to where his dad is standing in the kitchen doorway. He’s been sitting at the table going over some paperwork while Stiles cooked. And now that everything else is ready and the steaks are on, Stiles’s heart is beating double time with anticipation. 

“Yes,” Stiles answers shortly. “But don’t go getting used to it!” He notices that the table is now cleared – no paperwork in sight – so he starts collecting plates and silverware and everything else he needs to set it. 

By the time he’s done, Stiles is sweating something awful, and he’s forcibly reminded of their dinner a few nights ago when his dad had been a nervous wreck cooking for Melissa. The comparison doesn’t really bother Stiles, but it does appear to give the sheriff pause, because he gives Stiles a once over and raises his eyebrows alarmingly once he gets a good look. “Are you alright, kid? You don’t look so good.” 

“I’m fine,” Stiles assures him. The last thing he wants to do is give his father reason to doubt his conviction. “Just… keep an eye on those steaks while I freshen up.” Stiles hears his dad incredulously mumble, “ _freshen up?_ ” but he can’t focus on that right now. 

He runs upstairs as fast and as silently as he can. And then he makes a pit stop in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and slap on some deodorant before going to his room to change his clothes. 

First he throws his window wide open to try to encourage a breeze. Stiles thinks that it feels like August instead of May. Even after the cold water, he still feels a warm blush heating his skin and he dreads having to sit through this dinner when he’s feeling so out of sorts. 

And that’s of course when he realizes that his freaky sparkwolf body isn’t just sweating… he’s also… _leaking_. Whatever had happened to him back at Derek’s loft is happening again. Horrified, Stiles strips his clothing off as quickly as he can, cleans himself up with tissues, and gets redressed with an extra pair of underwear – praying as hard as he can that he’s able to get some control of himself for the next hour or two. He can’t spend any more time thinking about the how and why of what’s going on with him. He just doesn’t have time.

The doorbell rings and Stiles races down the stairs, attempting to save Derek from as much alone time with the sheriff as he possibly can. When he arrives, Derek is shaking his father’s hand and greeting him with a respectful, “Thank you for having me, sir.” 

And he looks _good_. God damn he looks good. He must have gone home and changed because he’s ditched the leather for an expensive looking black suit jacket and a crisp button-down that matches his eyes. Stiles wants to lick him. 

“Derek.” Stiles’s dad nods and gestures further into the house. “Come on in and let’s get this over with.” Derek smiles warmly, not one to be daunted by unimpressed, overprotective, gun-toting fathers. And all Stiles can do is stare – his mouth hanging open unattractively when they walk by, and Stiles gets a face-full of his alpha’s perfect scent. “Close your mouth, Stiles,” his dad suggests. 

The sheriff keeps walking straight on through to the dining room, but Stiles holds Derek back. “This is going to be a disaster,” he whispers. “There’s no way we’re making it out of here in one piece. How can you be so calm?!”

“Well, I figured one of us should at least try.” The familiar feel of Derek’s hand gripping the nape of Stiles’s neck is exquisitely welcome. And he wishes for the millionth time that this ‘meet the parents’ dinner was being held under very different circumstances. “Relax, pup. We’ll make it through this… trust me.”

“The food’s getting cold, kid!” the sheriff shouts from the dining room. 

Stiles huffs and leads Derek into the kitchen. He chooses to plate all three servings right there in the kitchen, and he juggles them precariously as he walks to the table – having asked Derek to follow with a basket of rolls. 

Once they’re all seated, Stiles realizes that they all need beverages. He’s surprised that his father hadn’t at least gotten one for himself, but the sheriff is throwing off some very territorial pheromones somehow, and the posturing doesn’t really surprise him. “Can I get you something to drink, father dear?” Stiles asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes in a ridiculous manner. 

“A beer would be wonderful, Stiles. Derek? Would you like a beer?” _Reminder number one that Derek is significantly older than him_ , Stiles thinks.

“No thank you, sir. Water is fine, Stiles.” He smiles sweetly and Stiles can’t help the unaccustomed shyness in his own, wordless response. He nods and blushes but says nothing – and that alone should be enough to make his father understand at least a portion of his depth of feeling for Derek. Also, he doesn’t miss that for Derek, having Stiles serve him is an unspoken show of the influence that he has over the sheriff’s son. 

When he returns a minute later with their drinks, Derek and the sheriff are just sitting there staring at each other. “Dig in, everyone!” Stiles tries to refocus their attention. “Dad, could you please pass the butter?” 

His dad feels a couple of inches away from his plate and picks up the butter dish – handing it over without ever breaking Derek’s gaze. It’s ridiculous, but Derek also refusing to be the first to break is even more ridiculous. 

Derek jumps when Stiles pinches him under the table, and Stiles doesn’t even flinch at the dirty look the alpha gives him for breaking his concentration. Instead Stiles just tucks into his steak, humming contentedly at the sinfully good taste. After that bite, Stiles doesn’t even care if Derek and his dad spend the rest of the night staring at each other – Stiles will be just fine stuffing his face with everything in sight. He’s so hungry that he’s pretty sure he could manage all three steaks and still want more. And once again Stiles curses the fact that his Adderall doesn’t work anymore. At this rate, he’s going to gain fifty pounds by the end of the summer!

“So, Derek… where are you living these days?” Stiles notices that both Derek and his father are working away at their meals – the steak knife in his father’s hand possibly held a little tighter than strictly necessary, in Stiles’s opinion. 

Derek mentions the street that his loft is on, then adds, “It’s one of several properties that I own here in Beacon Hills,” like it’s absolutely nothing at all. One of _several_ properties?!

Stiles just barely manages not to choke on his dinner roll when Derek says that. Expressing exactly how little he actually knows about Derek probably won’t help his case much. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Dad,” Stiles assures him. “Derek fixed it up really nicely. All new furnishings and such – it’s actually pretty cozy.” 

Derek’s scent begins to radiate a smug sort of pride. He’s obviously pleased by Stiles’s praise, but Stiles would warn him not to get too comfortable. He knows the sheriff’s methods, and this is the ‘throw them off by making them think they’re safe’ portion of the evening/interrogation. Unfortunately, Stiles hasn’t yet mastered telepathy, so even though he tries to warn Derek with covert facial expressions, he doesn’t think it’s getting through.

Stiles’s dad simply hums and takes another bite of steak, chewing contemplatively. 

The lack of conversation begins to feel overwhelming, even with the clinking of silverware and the sound of eating. To Stiles’s surprise, it’s Derek who breaks it. “This is very good, Stiles. Thank you for cooking.” He smiles, and Stiles can’t help but get lost a little in the warmth of it – his own goofy grin sort of stuck on his face until his father clears his throat. 

“Do you work, Derek? Go to school, maybe?” the sheriff asks. “What exactly is it that you do with your time?” His calm exterior is beginning to crack. Stiles can smell it. Anger and frustration are bleeding through, which can’t be a good thing. 

“Not since I’ve been back in Beacon Hills, no. Not since Laura…” Derek stares at his place when he speaks, and Stiles gives his dad a scathing look. _Way to remind him of his dead sister, Dad_ , Stiles thinks. 

“What about before?” The sheriff tempers his own feelings for Derek’s sake – his voice gentler when he speaks this time. “You’ve spent the last few years in New York, right?”

Derek could make up anything, Stiles is pretty sure. So he’s curious to hear what Derek will say. 

“I was in school,” Derek begins. “I finished an undergraduate degree at NYU last year, and I was attending law school right up until I left to follow Laura back here. It’s why I didn’t come back with her in the first place. She didn’t want me to miss any classes.” 

Derek is busying himself with adding butter to a roll, not yet realizing that both Stilinskis have ceased moving and are staring at him in shocked surprise. His heartbeat remains steady, he’s not lying. And he keeps talking…

“I’ve been working private security part-time for the past few years. I actually wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement, but Laura insisted that I go to school first. So I figured studying law would probably be useful.” He looks up then and takes a bite of his roll – not bothered at all by his gaping audience. 

“Really?” Stiles exclaims. He’s giving himself away a bit here, but he can’t help it. Derek was studying to be a lawyer? And he wanted to be a cop? Seriously? 

“Yes, really.” And there’s that smile again. Stiles suddenly wishes that this really were a more traditional ‘meet the parents’ dinner because he _really_ wants to lean over and kiss Derek right now. The urge is overwhelming. And it must show plainly on his face because his dad apparently decides that he’s done playing ‘good cop.’

“Mr. Hale, do you know what the age of consent is in the state of California?” 

“Dad!” Oh God, how humiliating. 

“Yes, sir, I do know,” Derek admits quietly. 

“And yet here you are. So tell me, Derek… what are your intentions with my son?”

“Oh my God! Dad!” 

“Stiles, if you can’t talk about it, then you shouldn’t be doing it.” Yeah, right. If he only knew…

“It’s alright, Stiles,” Derek assures him. And for one heart-breaking moment Stiles thinks that Derek is going to deny everything. It would, after all, be the safest, easiest way to handle the situation. 

But every instinct Stiles has (human and wolf alike) is screaming for Derek to voice his true feelings – to have the alpha claim him, if not in deed, then at least in word so that everyone knows… especially his father. 

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek begins, his knife and fork clinking softly as he sets them down on his mostly empty dinner plate. “If my life has taught me anything, it’s that you never know what tomorrow will bring.”

He reaches over and takes Stiles’s hand, holding it firmly. It’s grounding, but also slightly terrifying. And how surreal is it that he’s more afraid of what his dad will say about Derek’s age, than the fact that he’s an actual werewolf (which is a bridge that will have to be crossed another day, Stiles reminds himself). 

“If you’re not careful, Derek, tomorrow is going to bring you jail time.” Stiles tries to pull his hand free, but Derek holds fast. 

“Sir, your son is smart-mouthed, hyperactive troublemaker.” Stiles squawks in indignation, and his dad looks about ready to pull his gun. “But… he’s also the kindest, most intelligent, bravest person I’ve ever had the honor to know.”

“ _Derek…_ ” Holy shit. Derek’s heartbeat didn’t even flutter. He’s being serious right now. And oh God, those are tears Stiles can feel in his eyes. What is _wrong_ with him?

“And I know that he gets those amazing qualities from you.” The sheriff scoffs quietly, clearly not in the mood for sucking up. “I remember you,” Derek says. “After the fire. You were the one who picked me and Laura up from the school. You were the one who told us what happened.” His dad swallows audibly – the memory obviously not a pleasant one. “You were the one who made sure that we ate, and slept, and that we weren’t bothered by reporters.”

“I was just doing my job,” the sheriff insists.

“Yeah, you were. You were also doing it sixteen hours a day for more than a week. You were sacrificing time with your own family to help what was left of mine. I never forgot that.  
“And then, after Laura…” He pauses, grip tightening in Stiles’s hand. “There may have been some unfortunate misunderstandings…” Stiles barks out a nervous laugh, and then makes a zipping motion over his lips. “… but I couldn’t have gotten through it without Stiles. I would not have survived without him.” Which is more true than Stiles’s dad can possibly know. “When it really counts, he always does the right thing. And you taught him that.”

“No,” Stiles’s dad says, shaking his head. He looks awed, and not a little bit gutted, hearing Stiles spoken of like this. “No, his mother taught him that.” 

“I wish I could have known her,” Derek says softly. “And I wish that Stiles could have known my mother as well… I wish he could have known all of my family.” 

Stiles wipes away the ridiculous wetness from his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. “Can sharing hour be over now, please?” he says thickly. “Does he pass your muster, Dad?” 

The sheriff stands and holds a hand out for Derek to shake. Which he does, and then they’re all standing. “Derek, it’s been nice having you, and I thank you for being so cooperative. But now I think it’s time that my son and I have a talk.” He picks up his beer bottle and heads to the kitchen. “Stiles, why don’t you walk him out.” 

Oh no. This is bad, right? True, Stiles didn’t expect his father to welcome Derek with open arms, but this definitely seems bad. 

Stiles finally realizes that he’s just standing there, staring after his father, when Derek takes him by the hand and gently tugs him toward the front of the house. “Come on, Stiles. It’s going to be alright.” 

Standing on the porch an indeterminate amount of time later, Stiles finds himself crying into the fabric of Derek’s expensive clothes and sort of wishing that his life had stuck to the horror genre instead of branching out into drama. 

“I don’t even know why I’m acting like this,” he sobs, trying not to get snot all over Derek. “It’s not like I’m going to stop seeing you – no matter what he says.” 

“He hasn’t even said anything yet, Stiles. Not really. Why don’t you go in there and find out what he’s thinking before you start making plans to elope.” 

“Hilarious, Derek. And fine… I’ll go and talk to him. But you’d better start wearing Kevlar and come up with an awesome prison nickname, because what we just experienced definitely wasn’t the best case scenario.” He tries not to raise his voice, but Stiles is starting to feel kind of panicky now. “And that’s without even touching on the subject of werewolves!” 

“We’ve been through so much, Stiles… We’ll get through this too.” A tight squeeze to his nape calms Stiles enough to stop crying at least. Though what he wouldn’t give to be able to just get into Derek’s Camaro and go back to his loft with him. 

“Will you wait for me up in my room?” he asks Derek. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” 

“I’ll need to go patrol at some point, but yeah… just let me go park my car somewhere else.” They stand in the shadowy area of the porch to kiss, listening carefully for the sound of footsteps approaching. The footsteps never come, but they break apart eventually anyway.

Once Derek is in his car and has driven out of sight, Stiles has no more reasons to stall. His dad is waiting for him in the kitchen. He’s cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the sink, but now he’s leaning back against the counter just… frowning. 

“You know that I can’t condone this, Stiles.”

He knew it was coming, but Stiles still feels his heart drop into his stomach. Apparently his father isn’t finished though…

“Officially,” he adds. “You know that I can’t condone this officially.” 

“What?” Stiles perks up. He knows very well the sound rules makes when they bend. 

“You’re sixteen years old.”

“I’m almost seventeen!”

“Not helping,” the sheriff deadpans. 

“Sorry.”

His dad sighs before going on. “You’re almost seventeen years old. But Derek is twenty three, Stiles. Am I right in assuming that this is your first relationship?”

“Yes,” Stiles concedes. 

“Well, then believe me when I tell you that it’s probably in your best interests to consider your options before committing yourself to anything serious.” 

“So I take it Mom wasn’t your first relationship?”

“No, she wasn’t.” 

“So, if she had been… If you had found her first, it never would have lasted. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

His dad looks torn. Stiles can tell that he wants to stick to his guns, so to speak, but is having a very hard time doing so at the expense of his wife’s memory. “Your mother was different,” is what he eventually says. 

“So is Derek.” 

They stare at each other until his dad shakes his head again and reaches up into a rarely-used cabinet. He pulls out a plastic pharmacy bag and hands it over to Stiles quite reluctantly. “I can’t condone this,” he repeats. “But I know you. And I want you to be happy… and safe.”

Stiles can guess what the bag contains. To his chagrin, it makes him blush even darker than he already is due to the continued elevation in his body temperature. And if this is going to be his new normal every full moon, it’s definitely not something that he’s looking forward to.

“Just promise me that you’ll consider your options.” Stiles nods and shrugs – it’s as close as he’s willing to get to an acquiescence. “And I also want you to start looking for a job.”

“What?!” A job? He’s already got a job – it’s called keeping all his friends alive. It’s full-time and very fucking demanding. 

“It’s summer break now, and I know that Scott’s working at Deaton’s. You can’t spend all your time with your boyfriend.” Stiles begs to differ. “A summer job would do you good. It would probably do Derek good too,” he adds in an undertone. 

Stiles practically leaps forward and hugs his dad – the bag full of condoms hitting him in the back where Stiles squeezes him. “I’ll get a job. It’s not a problem.” He can’t believe this is going as well as it is. His dad is willing to turn a blind eye and all Stiles has to do is find himself some summer employment? He’ll figure out a way to make it work. Even if he does have to schedule it around dealing with encroaching alpha werewolves. No problem. 

“Yeah, yeah.” His dad squeezes him one last time then breaks the hug. “Now get this kitchen cleaned up.” Stiles jumps right to it. He puts the bag on the counter and starts running the water in the sink when he notices that his dad is putting on his jacket. 

“Going somewhere?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind, but Melissa and I made plans to go see a movie.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket but doesn’t make any move to go, and Stiles realizes that he’s actually waiting for permission from Stiles. 

“Of course I don’t mind! You two kooky kids go and have a good time. And go easy on the popcorn butter!” His dad cracks a smile and starts heading out of the kitchen, but he halts when Stiles keeps speaking. “And Dad… She’d want you to be happy, you know. Mom? She wouldn’t want you to be alone.” 

“… I know, Stiles… I know.” He smiles again, more sadly this time. And then he leaves – the sound of his car eventually fading in the distance. 

“I thought I asked you to wait in my room.” Derek slides his arms around Stiles’s waist where he’s standing at the sink, washing a plate. 

“I couldn’t wait.” Stiles smiles when he feels Derek’s mouth suck a line of kisses up the side of his throat. It makes him shiver, even though he’s burning up. 

“Dishes first. Sex second.” Derek groans and rests his forehead against Stiles’s back. But then he relents and steps up next to him, grabbing a dish towel and one of the clean, but still wet plates. 

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen a sink full of dishes washed and dried quite so quickly. It’s just a passing thought though, because soon he’s clinging to Derek as the alpha carries him up the stairs – kisses hot and demanding while any and all thoughts of dishes are long gone.


	13. Chapter 13

_Crash!_

The sound of breaking glass momentarily lifts Stiles out of the stupor of lust clouding his mind.

“Derek! Slow down! That was my great-grandparents you just knocked to the floor!”

Derek growls in annoyance and continues nipping and sucking at Stiles’s throat, his hips grinding insistently. 

“Can’t,” Derek mumbles. He pauses very briefly to rip Stiles’s shirt off, but when the claws come out to tear at his pants, Stiles has to object. 

“Derek! Put me down!” The claws disappear, but the hands holding Stiles’s hips against the hallway wall only tighten. “Bad alpha!” he shouts, yanking Derek’s head up by his hair. “We are _not_ having sex in the hallway! Now put me down!”

Finally relenting, Derek releases him and steps back enough for Stiles to slip past. His bedroom is only a few feet away, and Stiles doesn’t really know what possesses him, but he feels an instinctual urge to run away from the alpha. Not because he’s scared, and not because he wants to stop what they’re doing really. But still, Stiles speeds the remaining distance and slams the door shut in Derek’s face, locking it quickly before taking off out the window. 

Stiles starts running as soon as he hits the ground – shedding clothing as fast as possible and then leaping into a full shift. When he passes the tree line, Stiles is soon aware of Derek following closely behind. 

The alpha is growling lowly – no words beneath the sound, just a general air of want and determination reaching Stiles’s senses as he runs. Derek has a singular focus – Stiles will give him that much. But the alpha just can’t match him in the speed department. Stiles weighs less, and his lack of muscular bulk gives him more agility as well. 

For a while, Stiles doesn’t give an inch. There’s a substantial distance between the two wolves and Stiles revels in his ability to best Derek in any physical feat. Though, when Derek’s stamina appears to wane, Stiles slows enough to let him almost catch up, barking taunts to urge the alpha on. 

“ _Catch me if you can, Sourwolf!_ ” Stiles laughs. 

Derek’s rumbling growl gets louder as the wolf gets closer, causing a thrill of anticipation to zip through Stiles’s already keyed-up body.

His joyous feelings, coupled with the burnished gold and bronze colors of the setting sun recalls to Stiles the recent dream he’d had, and he howls in delight – making sure to wag his tail enthusiastically for Derek’s sake. Stiles can feel his own body’s physical response to his ever-increasing arousal, and he hopes that stirring the air around him will help the chasing alpha scent it. 

Derek is a hairsbreadth away from reaching him when Stiles darts ahead again, causing Derek to lose his footing and stumble. 

“ _Is that the best you can do, Alpha?_ ” Stiles taunts.

The only response is a frustrated growl. But Stiles isn’t done having his fun yet, so he leaps across a small ravine and veers sharply left before getting back up to full speed. 

For a while he gets lost in the feel of the fresh air in his lungs and the soft earth beneath his feet – his heightened senses allowing an immersion in his surroundings that he’s never felt before. But after a while, he’s not even sure how long he’s been running, and he isn’t immediately able to hear or scent Derek. 

“ _Can’t keep up, old man?_ ” he barks, expecting at least a growl in response. 

But nothing comes. No growl, no barks, no howling telling Stiles that he’s a little shit that needs to slow down. Nothing. 

Stiles skids to a halt, quickly turning in circles and reaching out as far as he can with his senses. All he hears is the normal sounds of the forest around him – all he scents is plants and small woodland creatures. 

Beginning to tremble, Stiles tries to remember how long ago Derek was there behind him. He can’t remember. He also can’t remember exactly where he is. 

“ _Derek!_ ” Stiles howls, trying to keep a frightened quaver out of his voice. He listens for a response but doesn’t get one, so he starts up a slow trot in the direction which his instincts are leading him – not even sure which direction he’s going. 

The sun is gone from the horizon, the moon not yet high enough to see well through the trees, so he’s going on faith for the moment. 

Soon he breaks through into a clearing that’s ringed with some sort of flowering trees that are in full bloom. The grass is soft beneath the pads of his feet and the place calms him for some reason. He can hear and smell a small stream nearby – the fresh water sweet on the air and the quiet babble soothing to his ear. 

He sits down and closes his eyes, hoping that the peaceful place will help him decide what to do. He’s just about to try howling again – maybe louder this time in hopes of attracting the attention of other pack members as well – when he’s knocked to the ground by a huge black blur that smells awfully familiar. 

“ _Caught you,_ ” Derek wuffs seductively, after pinning Stiles to the ground. 

Stiles sighs in relief, but then snaps at the alpha in annoyance. “ _You ass! I thought you fell off a cliff or something. Don’t do that again!_ ”

Derek licks Stiles’s face just to be annoying. “ _Not my fault you weren’t keeping track of your senses, pup,_ ” Derek barks quietly. “ _Though I’m not surprised that you ended up here._ ” 

“ _Why?_ ” Stiles asks. “ _What is this place?_ ” The moon is beginning to peek over the tree line, bathing the clearing in a bewitchingly lustrous glow. 

“ _It’s the Sacramental Glade,_ ” Derek says. It comes out as a soft whine, and then Derek holds Stiles still with a firm, but gentle bite to the nape of his neck while putting himself in a position to mount the smaller wolf. 

Stiles feels an urge to arch his back and lift his tail, but a burst of fear-fueled adrenaline causes him to express his uncertainty, which in-turn causes Derek to let go. 

“ _What’s wrong, Stiles?,_ ” he asks, cocking his head in concern. And Stiles almost laughs at how Derek is still able to communicate with his eyebrows, even in his wolfy form. 

“ _Can we shift back?_ ” 

Derek removes himself from Stiles’s personal space and shifts immediately, sitting back on his ass and pulling his knees up to his chest. He’s obviously trying to seem non-threatening, and Stiles really appreciates that. 

Stiles shifts as well, but he doesn’t back off. He knee-walks over to Derek and sprawls out next to him on his side, propping his head up on his palm. “I’m all for getting down in nature, Derek. I’m just not sure that I’m ready to do so while shifted.” He reaches out and soothes his hand down Derek’s arm, pulling the alpha toward him by his wrist while flashing his eyes. “Now come down here and tell me all about this Superficial Glade, Sexywolf.” 

Derek growls lowly and follows Stiles down – insinuating himself between Stiles’s legs and kissing him deeply for a while. They’re both panting when Derek finally speaks, their hips grinding urgently together. “The _Sacramental_ Glade is a place of ritual communion for members of the Hale family stretching back generations,” he explains breathlessly. “Births often happen here… sometimes deaths. Coming of age ceremonies…”

“And matings?” Stiles guesses, hitching one leg up around Derek’s waist while he stretches his head back to bare his throat. 

Derek’s eyes burn red and he growls possessively as he buries his face in the long stretch of creamy white skin on offer. He breathes deeply and laves thoroughly while Stiles moans and trembles. 

For the first time, Stiles thinks that he can feel his spark coming to life. His body feels like a fourth of July sparkler – crackling and glowing in a bright blaze of glory that illuminates without burning anything it touches. But Stiles sure can feel it burning within him.

“ _Stiles…_ ” Derek’s fangs scrape teasingly over Stiles’s throat – an abundance of saliva dripping down like the alpha just can’t help it. 

“Come on, Alpha,” Stiles coaxes. “What are you going to do?” His right leg joins his left back down on the ground – spread as wide in invitation as his arms where they’re clutching the dew-covered grass beneath them. 

Derek snarls and thrusts forward – burying himself within Stiles with no regard for preparation, so it’s lucky that Stiles doesn’t seem to need it. They’re both so hard and Derek’s knot is already forming – slipping in and out wetly as he sheathes himself over and over again with the help of Stiles’s natural wetness. 

Stiles’s mind races; caught between feelings of ecstasy and trepidation at what will happen if Derek decides not to even attempt to hold back his wolf’s instinct anymore. Stiles knows that he wants it – wants to be Derek’s mate and all that entails. But he’s scared. Finalities have always terrified him, ever since the moment that his mother breathed her final ragged breath. Final is forever. Final means there’s no coming back. 

Eventually, Stiles realizes that Derek is saying something. It’s hard to make out mumbled around his impressive fangs, but when he focuses completely, Stiles can tell that Derek is sobbing, “ _Please… please… please… please…_ ” over and over and over again. 

His thrusts have gentled, but they’re still insistent. And they’re hitting Stiles’s prostate with deadly accuracy – pushing Stiles closer and closer to climax with every stuttered plea. 

“It’s alright,” Stiles assures him confidently. He wraps Derek up in his long arms and soothes a hand through his dark, sweat-soaked hair – meeting his thrusts with sure ones of his own. “I’m here, Derek… I’m not going anywhere.” 

Derek is silent when he comes, and Stiles meets him with equal quiet devastation, but just as he expects to feel the sharp stab of fangs sinking into his throat, Derek lifts his head and snarls – tightening his arms around Stiles and growling “ _Mine!_ ” at someone or something that Stiles cannot see. 

Stiles twists his head back and snarls as well, feeling his own fangs drop and his eyes flash brightly when he sees that they’re being watched by the alpha twins, Ethan and Aiden. 

“Holy shit, Ethan! I don’t know if I can do this now… Just look at him! And can you smell him?! God Damn that’s good!” Both twins are in their beta shift, but they don’t seem to be radiating much ill-intent, surprisingly. They do seem to be radiating a lot of lust though. 

“We already decided, Aiden. This won’t end well if we change our minds now.” They both seem to be holding back, which Stiles is grateful for; because he really doesn’t want to find out what happens when an alpha’s knot gets pulled out too soon. 

“I will _kill_ you if you don’t leave _right now_!” Derek growls, his whole body trembling with murderous rage. Stiles can tell that part of that rage is directed at himself for not realizing that the twins were there sooner. But Stiles can’t really blame him for being a little distracted at the time. 

“Derek,” Stiles soothes. “Deep breaths, babe. We’re in a delicate position here, remember?” He wiggles his hips to emphasize their predicament, and Derek looks down at him momentarily, but doesn’t stop growling. 

Stiles figures that’s probably as good as they’re going to get so he sighs and tips his head back again. “What the ever-loving shit are you two assholes doing here?” he asks, hoping the answer isn’t what he thinks it will be. 

Aiden is panting heavily and flashing his red eyes while also cracking his knuckles and shifting from foot-to-foot, an obvious erection straining his jeans. Luckily though, Ethan seems somewhat more calm and collected. 

“We came to find you to tell you that we’ve decided to break with Deucalion’s pack and we want to help you take him down,” he says. 

“Uh… ok…” The alpha’s heartbeat stays steady, but Stiles’s human teachings are taking the driver’s seat here and he isn’t really inclined to believe him. “How about you fuck off instead and we’ll take care of Duke on our own?” he suggests. 

Derek’s knot is rapidly deflating – much more quickly than it had the last time, thank God. And soon enough they can safely separate, causing Derek to leap to his feet and into a defensive stance – dick still hard and standing proudly in all its glory. And while he doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, Stiles is pretty mortified. So he stands behind Derek and covers his quickly shrinking junk with both hands. 

“It’s two against one, Ethan,” Aiden says to his brother. “Why don’t we just fight Hale off and take the Spark for ourselves? He hasn’t claimed him yet… see?”

Derek snarls, but Stiles squawks indignantly. “Hey, asshole, it’s two against two. I can fight for myself,” he assures the alpha. 

Both twins ignore him though. “He has to be willing, remember?” Ethan reminds his brother. “That’s what Duke said. It won’t work otherwise.” 

Stiles is starting to get a really bad feeling about the direction their conversation is going. He also has a feeling that he’s missing something really important. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “What won’t work?”

“What? Hale hasn’t told you yet?” Aiden scoffs. “Well, I guess he wouldn’t, would he?”

Derek looks about two seconds away from a full shift, but Stiles stalls him with a hand on his arm. “Wait,” he commands. “I want to hear this.” 

Aiden sighs and rolls his eyes, but it’s Ethan who eventually explains. “Duke wants you for his pack because Sparks who become wolves make a pack stronger.” 

Ok, Stiles can see how that might be true. And yeah, he’s kind of pissed that Derek hasn’t told him this… especially since he thought Derek was done hiding things from him. “Did you know this?” he asks Derek. 

The alpha finally stops growling and shamefacedly looks to the ground when he mumbles, “Yes.” 

“Damn it, Derek! Why didn’t you tell me that?” Ugh. Stiles really wishes he had clothes on to have this conversation. 

Derek looks back up and speaks directly to him when he responds at least. And his heart doesn’t stutter. “Because it doesn’t matter to me, Stiles. I’d want you in my pack even without your Spark.” 

Stiles smiles a little at that, but then he remembers what Ethan had said about being willing. “So that’s why you wanted me to pick you instead of Scott? Because I had to be willing to be in your pack for it to ‘work’? Whatever that means.” 

But Derek doesn’t have a chance to answer because Aiden does it for him. “The willing part isn’t about joining the pack, Stiles. A Sparkwolf strengthens a pack by strengthening an alpha… by mating with them... willingly.” 

And isn’t that a bucket of cold water thrown over his head? 

“What?!” Stiles and Derek shout at the same time, looking to the twins first and then to each other. 

“ _That’s_ why you want me to be your mate?!” Stiles exclaims. “It’s just a Goddamned power play for you?!” 

He’s well aware that Derek turned Isaac, Erica, and Boyd as a way to make himself a stronger alpha. It’s the same reason he wanted Scott to join as well. But he’s kept telling himself that that wasn’t why Derek wanted _him_. Derek even told him that wasn’t why. And it breaks his fucking heart to hear that this, of all things, is just a way to use him. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he says, clutching his stomach and backing away toward the tree line. 

“Stiles, no!” Derek shouts, rushing towards him. But Stiles growls and flashes his eyes at the alpha, stopping him in his tracks. “I swear that wasn’t my intention, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!” Stiles snarls. His mind and body is at war with each other. He’s almost positive that his wolf already considers Derek his mate. He can feel it inside him urging him toward the alpha while his rational human side is screaming at him to run far and fast and never trust this man again. “How _could_ you, Derek?” 

“I admit,” Derek begins, hands out, placating. “Peter told me about Sparkwolves strengthening packs, ok? But he didn’t say anything about mating with them. I promise you.” Stiles listens intently to Derek’s heartbeat. It’s quickened, but steady – a good sign. “And I’ve wanted you since long before you were a wolf. Before I even knew that you were a Spark, Stiles. I already told you this… remember?” 

That’s true… Derek did tell him that. But still… 

“I need to go home.” He spins on his heel and walks back into the woods, leaving the sanctity of the Glade and praying that he’s heading in the right direction. He thinks about shifting, but worries that his wolf would lead him right back to Derek. 

“ _Give me your fucking phone!_ ” he hears Derek shout at one or both of the twins before Stiles is quickly out of earshot. 

Stiles starts to shiver and realizes that he’s still clutching his midsection, but he can’t seem to let go. He lets his sense of smell guide him by following his own scent trail back towards the point he started from – his house.

He hasn’t been walking long before he notices that Derek is shifted and following behind him, but the wolf doesn’t get very close, and Stiles suspects that he’s just following to make sure that Stiles doesn’t get lost. 

Everything he knows about Derek and what’s happened recently tumbles over and over in his head while he walks, but he’s unable to decide on any definitive conclusions. He wishes that he could talk to his dad about everything, and even finds himself longing to speak to his mother as well. She was always the most willing to listen, no matter how wild his stories. And she was always the most understanding of how he was feeling. 

Thinking of his mother makes him cry, and he once again curses whatever hormonal changes becoming a werewolf has caused in him. He never used to cry this much. Not when getting angry was also an option. 

At one point he realizes that he can no longer sense Derek anywhere near. It makes him even sadder, thinking that maybe Derek has decided to give up on him after all. But then he hears a stumbling crash coming from his right and is almost ready to shift when he understands that it’s Scott, and not a threat. 

“Hey,” Scott says, averting his eyes as Stiles covers his junk again. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m assuming that you probably don’t want that right now.” 

Stiles scoffs but ends with a wet, sniffling laugh, lifting one hand to wipe the snot away from his nose. “Sorry, man. This full shift nakedness never ceases to be really fucking awkward.” They walk a few more steps before Stiles’s curiosity gets the best of him. “Just out for a stroll?” he asks, knowing full well that’s not why Scott is out here. 

“Derek called.” Yep, that’s what he thought. “He said you needed me.” 

“Me?!” Stiles shrieks. “I need no one… No one at all. I’m a lone wolf… An independent ocelot… A solitary, uh, skunk.” Ok, he couldn’t think of another loner animal. Sue him. 

“Nah,” Scott says. “You don’t smell _that_ bad.” Stiles wants to be indignant, but one look at Scott’s smirking face makes Stiles smile too. 

“So… Derek’s done trying to convince me that he isn’t just using me to become the biggest, baddest alpha in the land?” He lifts one hand from his crotch to clutch his arm around his middle again. “I guess you were right after all, huh? Called it back in the cafeteria that day, right? Stupid Stiles and his stupid dreams, right?” 

He sniffles again as another tear escapes unbidden, but then he’s stopped short with a hand on his elbow. “First of all, Stiles… here, put this on.” Scott takes off a hooded sweatshirt that he’s wearing and hands it over. And surprise, surprise, it’s actually long enough to cover his junk. “It’s Isaac’s,” Scott adds.

“Oh, do we get to talk about _that_ now?” Stiles hopes. 

Stiles can see Scott’s blush, even in the darkness. But, “No,” he says. “We’re talking about you now.” They’re getting close to Stiles’s house, Stiles can smell it. “Second of all – before you can distract me again – you’re not stupid. And I wasn’t right. Ok? I was wrong, and I want you to know that I was literally the only person who even sort of thought that was true.” 

“It makes sense if you think about it though,” Stiles insists. “Derek is gorgeous and capable of being charming. He’s got that bad-boy mystique, but is willing to risk his own life to save others. He’s even rolling in cash, though you might not think it based on where he chooses to live sometimes. I mean, he could have _anyone_ , Scott… Why on Earth would he want me?”

Scott stops him again and forces him to turn around and look at him. “Why _wouldn’t_ he want you, Stiles? You’re fucking amazing!” Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs. “No, listen… You’re a Goddamned genius, first of all. Smarter than anyone I know – including Lyida! 

“You’re funny and you’re kind – You’re always there to make someone feel better about themselves when they need it. Even me, who is a selfish son of a bitch if there ever was one. You take care of your dad like you’re the parent, and a good one at that! And you’re gorgeous!” 

Stiles outright laughs at that one. “No! Listen! You’re tall and well-muscled, lean and fast. You’ve got the most beautiful eyes and a really pretty mouth…”

“Jesus, dude, it sound like you’re the one who wants to fuck me…”

“Well, maybe I’ve thought about it,” Scott surprises him by saying. “You’re very attractive, Stiles, but you’re my best friend. And I’d never want anything to risk that. And besides… you’re already in love with someone else.” 

“I’m not in love with Lydia anymore, Scott. That ship has well and truly sailed.” They start walking again, getting closer and closer to his back yard. 

“Not Lydia, Stiles… You’re in love with Derek.” 

Stiles stops and turns to look at him again. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t even try and pretend that you’re not, dude. Lydia was puppy love compared to how you feel about Derek.” 

“You are certifiable, man. I do not _love _Derek.” Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Stiles.__

__“You know, even if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat, do you know how I know that you love Derek?” Scott asks._ _

__“How, oh wise one… How do you know?” Stiles questions._ _

__“You look at Derek the way that my mom looks at your dad. And I can’t believe you just make me say that. I think I have to go bleach out my mouth now.” Scott makes a gagging sound and Stiles looks at him incredulously. “Dude, my mom’s been in love with your dad for years. She just never wanted to do anything about it because she knows how much he still loves your mom. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to compete… even though your mom isn’t ever coming back,” he finishes sadly._ _

__“Which is another thing,” Scott adds sounding melancholy. “When you’re with Derek, you light up the way your dad used to light up around your mom. I still remember because I used to be so surprised every time I saw it. My parents were never like that, you know?”_ _

__And Stiles does know. His mom and dad were the perfect couple. Everyone always said so. Which is why he finds it so hard to believe that he and Derek could be anything like them. They never had these kind of relationship issues. Of course, he’s pretty sure they never had any kind of supernatural issues period so…_ _

__Stiles shrugs. They’ve reached Stiles’s backyard and are soon beneath his window again. “I don’t know, Scott. Maybe you’re right. Hey! That would be a first, huh?” Scott punches him in the arm, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Maybe I just need to sleep on it, yeah?”_ _

__Stiles knows that his wolf is whining at him to believe Derek. He misses him already. He’s feeling cold and bereft, and he longs to feel the alpha’s strong arms holding him close again._ _

__“Do you want me to stay?” Scott asks. The offer is genuine, but Stiles can tell that Scott is itching to get back to Isaac again. Which is definitely something they are going to have to talk about soon. ‘Cause seriously, where the hell did that come from?_ _

__“Nah, I’ll be alright,” he tells him. “But tell Isaac that I’m keeping his hoodie… at least for tonight. And try not to ogle my fine ass as I climb up through the window, seeing as how you want to fuck me so bad.”_ _

__Scott’s the one to roll his eyes this time, but at least it makes Stiles smile – something he hasn’t done in a while. They hug briefly – a one-armed bro-hug if there ever was one – and Scott is walking away before Stiles even begins his ascent to the second story._ _

__But as he stumbles awkwardly through his window with the clothing that he’d discarded earlier bundled up in his arms, he’s fervently wishing that he had asked Scott to stay. Because there’s someone else already there – someone that he really doesn’t want to be alone with._ _

__“Get out,” he commands, also wishing that he’d taken the time to pull his pants on before he’d climbed up._ _

__“Aw, come on, Stiles,” Peter soothes from where he’s sprawled out on Stiles’s bed. “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I’m here?”_ _

__“Why are you ever anywhere?” Stiles muses. “To be a gigantic pain in the ass, I’m assuming.”_ _

__“Oh, I could be, if that’s what you want, Stiles. But it would appear as though my nephew has already beaten me to that tonight.” He looks Stiles over in an uncomfortably lecherous way and then closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before opening them up again. “Although, seeing as you’re here and he’s not, could it be that he isn’t enough for you after all?”_ _

__Peter slides off the bed and slinks over to where Stiles is still hesitating near the open window. “Are you done playing with boys, Stiles? Ready for a man to show you what you really want, little wolf?”_ _

__The closer Peter gets, the angrier Stiles feels. And as soon as the beta reaches out to touch him, Stiles snaps. His fangs and claws come out in the blink of an eye and the teen snarls in Peter’s face as he slams the man against the wall with a hand gripped tightly around his throat._ _

__Stiles knows that his eyes are burning, but Peter doesn’t seem to care. The beta’s eyes stay their natural hue and he smiles even wider than before. “Kitty’s got some claws,” he says as well as he can with his windpipe constricted._ _

__Stiles watches as Peter’s pupils dilate – the unmistakable scent of arousal tainting the air between them – and he quickly lets go and takes a few hurried steps back._ _

__Peter follows, stalking forward until their positions are reversed and Stiles is backed up against his closed bedroom door. “I knew you’d make an exemplary wolf, Stiles,” he purrs. “I should have bit you when I had the chance.”_ _

__“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Stiles insists. “Derek still would have ripped out your throat.”_ _

__Peter plants one hand against the door next to Stiles’s head and leans in to scent his throat. “Maybe so,” he says. “Or maybe you would have joined me. We could have made quite the pair, don’t you think?”_ _

__Stiles cowers. He doesn’t want to. And logically he knows that he isn’t helpless anymore. But old habits and all that…_ _

__“What do you want?” he snarls, dipping his head the best he can without baring his neck._ _

__“Oh, many things, little wolf… a great many things.” His other hand comes up and Stiles thinks Peter is going to touch him. But instead he’s surprised to see a USB drive balanced between the man’s fingers. “Derek told me to give you this.”_ _

__Stiles hesitates, trying to figure out the catch. Peter doesn’t say anything more though, so Stiles plucks the drive out of his hand and swallows nervously._ _

__“You know, it’s not too late to change your mind, Stiles…” Stiles knows what Peter is insinuating. And even though it’s supposed to be an offer, and not the threat it sounds like, Stiles isn’t interested. He’ll never be interested in anything that Peter has to offer._ _

__“Fuck. Off.” There. Stiles doesn’t think it gets any more succinct than that._ _

__Peter sighs but backs off all the same. “You know, you really out to think about being more polite, Stiles.” Stiles growls while Peter makes his way to the window. “You might make people think you don’t like them.”_ _

__He ducks out the window and Stiles is left alone – half naked, pissed off, and longing for a certain green-eyed alpha, even though he sort of wishes that he didn’t. He tosses the USB down onto his desk and rushes over to lock the window, feeling marginally safer even though he knows that he really isn’t._ _

__After a quick look to make sure that his dad is still out; a thorough shower to wash away the day’s accumulated filth; and a quick and dirty read through of the missing pages of the Hale bestiary, Stiles finds himself in bed contemplating his seriously fucked up life._ _

__He closes his eyes to calm himself and ends up zeroing in on a second heartbeat – one that’s starting to become as familiar as his own – outside in the yard._ _

__It’s a near thing, but eventually Stiles gets up and throws the window open. “I know you’re out there, Derek. Just get your ass up here.” Then he goes back to lie down on his bed._ _

__“Peter was here?” Derek asks soon after, jumping through Stiles’s window fully dressed._ _

__“Yep,” Stiles answers. “He gave me a copy of the bestiary.”_ _

__Derek looks around the room, sniffing and then clenching his fists at what he smells. “Do you want me to go talk to him?” he asks in a way that makes it sound like by ‘talk to him,’ he means ‘punch him in his smug, pervy face.’_ _

__“Unless you’re willing to kill him again, I don’t think it will do much good.” Derek averts his eyes to the ground, shifting uncomfortably. And Stiles heart breaks when he realizes that Derek thinks he’s being completely serious._ _

__“I’m not asking you to kill your uncle, Derek. And it’s sad as shit that I have to actually tell you that.” He lifts the comforter up and motions for Derek to come closer. “Come on, Sourwolf. I can’t stand seeing that look on your face.”_ _

__Derek doesn’t hesitate for a second – quickly shedding his jacket and shoes before slipping in beside Stiles and wrapping him up in his arms. “I didn’t think you’d want me here,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles’s back, spreading his scent and offering reassurance._ _

__“Yeah, well I almost definitely shouldn’t want you here.” Derek tenses, and Stiles snuggles closer and rubs his cheek over Derek’s rough stubble. “Unfortunately I don’t seem to have a whole lot of choice in the matter.”_ _

__“You’ll always have a choice with me, Stiles… I’d never force you to-”_ _

__“I know, Derek.”_ _

__“And I didn’t know about the mating thing, I swear.”_ _

__“I know, Derek.”_ _

__“And I’ll deal with Deucalion and the twins… And Peter.”_ _

__Stiles kisses him. “I _know_ Derek.” _ _

__Just for once, Stiles wishes that Derek didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his beautiful shoulders. They may be strong enough, but the responsibility shouldn’t always lie with him, poor man._ _

__“And I-”_ _

__“I love you.”_ _

__“What?” Derek questions, shocked, but obviously hopeful._ _

__“I said I love you,” Stiles repeats – so matter-of-factly that he’s pretty shocked as well._ _

__“You-”_ _

__“Love you. Yes. Now can we get some rest, please? I have a feeling that tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier than today, and that’s really saying something.”_ _

__They settle comfortably in silence until the sound of Stiles’s rumbling purr starts up in earnest._ _

__He’s almost asleep when he hears Derek whisper, “I love you too.”_ _

__Stiles smiles. Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad after all._ _


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a lot longer, but it's been too long since I posted, so here's the first half of what I had planned. 
> 
> It's basically pure smut so I guess you're welcome? Either that or I'm sorry. Only you will know for sure.

“Wake up.”

Stiles slaps Derek lightly on the cheek and he wakes with a snort, green eyes blinking with the most adorable confusion. It only lasts for a moment though before the alpha jerks up to a sitting position – almost knocking Stiles to the floor in his haste to take stock of his surroundings.

“What time is it?” he asks, eyes squinting in the bright, late-morning sunshine.

“Almost noon,” Stiles answers. He’s just awoken himself. And while he slept longer and more peacefully than usual, he still feels restless and uncomfortable. Not to mention _super_ horny. But hey, at least now that Derek is awake, Stiles can remedy one of those problems. “Now take off your pants.”

Derek drops back down on the pillow and scrubs a hand over his face. “Hm?”

Stiles ignores the questioning noise and rips his own shirt off before going for the fastening of Derek’s pants with slightly shaking fingers. 

He only gets as far as the button when Derek shoots back up and stills Stiles’s hand. “Stiles, what about your dad?” Stiles slaps Derek’s hand away and pushes him down again. 

“He’s at work.” He coaxes Derek out of his shirt. “And we’re lucky that he chose not to check on me before he left – Come on, Derek… Pants. Off. Now. – Or did you just hide while he was getting ready earlier?”

Stiles doesn’t like to think about what his dad would have said or done if he _had_ found Derek sleeping in his bed. He might not be quite so understanding if they pushed him so far, so soon.

Stiles removes the rest of his own clothing hurriedly – no patience for the snail’s pace at which Derek is choosing to move.

“No, he must not have,” Derek answers distractedly. “I didn’t wake up at all.”

Derek pauses with his jeans pushed down to his knees and fishes in his pockets for his phone. Stiles gives him just enough time to grab it before he yanks Derek’s jeans off and then more carefully removes his dark blue boxer briefs.

“Do you usually sleep so soundly,” Stiles asks. It seems kind of dangerous to be such a heavy sleeper when you’re an alpha in a position like Derek’s. He’s lucky someone hasn’t snuck up and killed him already. Stiles’s stomach clenches with terror at the thought.

Derek sends a text and then puts his phone aside. “No, actually. Usually I’m a very light sleeper.” 

His statement is reassuring enough to ease Stiles’s worry, and he leans down to steal a kiss while he climbs on top of Derek – straddling him confidently and pushing his hips down for some desperately needed friction. 

He shudders at the contact – very happy to note that Derek is well on his way to a similar state of readiness. “Must just be me then, huh?” he asks between breathless moans.

Derek grabs ahold of Stiles’s hips and flips their positions, trapping Stiles’s smaller body beneath him as he nibbles at his neck. “Must be,” he agrees with a toothy grin.

Then Derek sits back on his heels in-between Stiles’s splayed legs, eliciting a petulant whine that Stiles just can’t help but make at the loss. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be so far away, Stiles thinks. And he’s just about to say so when Derek reaches down and pushes Stiles’s knees up to his chest – guiding his calves to rest over Derek’s wide shoulders. 

Stiles is hoping that Derek will get right to it. He’s so hard that he’s aching. He’s also uncomfortably aware that the sheets below him are noticeably wet. 

Derek must notice as well, because the next thing he knows, Stiles’s hips are being lifted into the air with a very firm grip on his cheeks, and Derek once again has his face shoved in Stiles’s ass. “Christ, Derek! Warn a guy next time! _Oh, Jesus…_ Oh, God! Do that again!”

Derek growls lowly while he drives Stiles wild, methodically and very thoroughly stretching him open with his tongue. Stiles is panting and moaning and clenching around Derek’s tongue before he knows it, and his arms are starting to wobble from the effort of being used as leverage to keep his head up. 

“I’m ready! I’m ready, Derek. Come on!” 

Derek leans back – just far enough to move his clever mouth to the back of Stiles’s knee. The pleasure causes Stiles’s hips to buck and he shouts unintelligible profanities while he scrunches his eyes shut. The feeling is one thing. But actually seeing Derek bestowing such concentrated affection on Stiles’s secret pleasure spot would most probably make him come immediately. And he doesn’t want to… not yet, while something still feels like it’s missing. 

So in an effort to hold that off, Stiles fists his hands in his bedsheets – unfortunately shredding the new set, but thankfully avoiding slashing the mattress itself. He sure wouldn’t want to have to explain that to his father. 

“Open your eyes, pup. Show me that Spark.” Derek lowers Stiles’s legs gently to the bed – lowering himself as well, though not quite letting their skin touch. 

Stiles submits obediently. His eyes drift open slowly, shining with the warmth of a candle’s flame – the heat in that one look rivaling the burn of the hot blood rushing through his veins. 

Stiles burns for Derek. And he’s beginning to feel as though he lives and breathes for Derek too. He’s also increasingly sure that Derek feels the same way about him. Which is a fact that is as wonderful as it is completely terrifying.

The alpha’s eyes glow crimson in response, and Stiles is absolutely panting for it. He can tell that Derek wants it just as much as he does, but the infuriating alpha apparently deems it fit to take his sweet-ass time. 

Stiles lies back and takes it when Derek starts in on his nipples. He licks and sucks and nibbles until Stiles is gasping and beginning to tremble. 

“Derek, please! I need it!” 

“What, pup? What is it that you need?” Derek pulls back and pinches Stiles’s abused nipple until he whines.

“Derek! I need… I need… I- please, Derek!”

Stiles is a mess by this point. He’s so horny that he thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t come soon. 

Of course, Derek seems very aware of this. He also seems inclined to let Stiles continue to suffer. So stiles whimpers and lifts his hips into the air repeatedly – hoping to find any sort of relief. 

Stilling Stiles’s hips with one large hand pinning them to the bed, Derek growls and leans down to lick a stripe up the side of his throat. “I don’t know, Stiles… slapping me awake was very naughty of you. And I’m not sure if naughty pups should be allowed to come. What do you think?”

“I think that if you keep talking like that, I’m going to come whether you like it or not. Jesus, Derek, throw me a bone here.” Derek raises one eye imperiously. “Don’t look at me like that, man. Even I don’t know if that was supposed to be a dog joke or a dick joke. And if I’m being completely honest, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually a joke at all. I _need_ you to fuck me, Derek. Like, right now.” 

Derek relents – partially, at least – and slides sinuously down Stiles’s body to take his throbbing cock into his perfect mouth. Stiles sighs in relief, which turns into a moan of pure pleasure. His climax climbs quickly and super intensely, but once he’s practically tipping over the edge, he gets stuck there. And this time it isn’t Derek’s fault. The alpha isn’t teasing, not this time, not anymore.

It feels so good – so warm and wet, and the perfect amount of suction. Stiles even watches every second of it in hopes that the visual with help do the job. But he just… can’t.

He waits through roughly fifteen minutes of this beautiful torture – until he’s so frustrated that he feels himself starting to lose control of the shift – and then he pushes Derek back with a rough shove and flips himself over. The next moment he’s on hands and knees, canting his hips to shove his ass in the air while arching his back and whining like a fucking porn star. It’s obscene, he knows. But it just feels so right. 

“ _Derek!_ ” he begs. “It’s not enough! I need more, Alpha, _please_.” It’s said around a hint of fang, and Stiles knows that his eyes are glowing brightly. 

Derek pounces. There’s really no other word for it. 

One moment he’s sitting back on his heels, looking at Stiles with a focused gaze, and the next moment he’s draped himself over Stiles like a blanket. Well, a blanket that also possesses sharp fangs that tease wetly at Stiles’s throat to distract from the single, unrelenting thrust which fills Stiles up completely. 

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus! That’s it!” Stiles shouts.

Derek growls roughly, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s to show his opinion of Stiles’s pillow talk, or if it’s just his wolfy instincts getting the better of him again. Either way, Stiles decides to dial it back a bit and try to get a hold of himself. 

He bites the pillow to stifle the flow of words that are wanting to tumble out, but he doesn’t stop himself from meeting Derek thrust for thrust. 

Stiles knows that there really isn’t a whole lot of difference in body size between them. Sure, Derek has a couple of inches and noticeably more muscle mass. But the position they’re in, and the possessive hold Derek has on his hips makes him feel tiny in the alpha’s hold. And it’s a surprisingly heady feeling.

Stiles loves it. He loves feeling owned, but absolutely cared for at the same time. Derek is being sort of rough, but it’s exactly what Stiles wants… what he needs. He needs the feeling of fulfillment that he’s getting. It seems to be what had previously been lacking, because after only a handful of thrusts, Stiles feels like he might just be able to finish.

He releases the pillow enough to whisper, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” quietly, but very intently. The angle and the rhythm are so good that Stiles doesn’t even think about reaching a hand down to stroke himself. He’s going to come, and it’s going to be completely untouched. If only Derek would…

“Knot me!” Stiles shouts, surprising them both. Derek falters in his rhythm, but he recovers quickly – putting even more finesse into his movements until he’s grinding his rapidly inflating knot past Stiles’s tight rim, and filling him up, hot and wet. 

Stiles comes as well, and then all he wants to do is have Derek curl up around him while they snuggle under the covers and go back to sleep. Stiles just woke up. He shouldn’t be so ready to pass out again. But he feels so happy and sated that he can’t help it. 

Stiles lets himself be guided down onto his side, yawning obnoxiously and shivering until Derek pulls the comforter up over both of them. 

“A full-night’s sleep not enough for you, pup?” Derek teases. 

“Hush… Sleeping,” Stiles murmurs back. And he really is about three seconds from unconsciousness when he hears the hateful sound of his phone blaring ‘Bad Boys’ by Inner Circle. He only recently made it his dad’s ringtone, and Stiles thinks it’s hilarious. The sheriff, on the other hand, isn’t quite so amused.

Though, to be perfectly honest, Stiles isn’t all that tickled by it right now either. “Oh my God! Make it stop!!” he whines, burying his head underneath the pillow.

He hears Derek chuckle while he shifts to reach for Stiles’s phone. It’s a fair bit of acrobatics because they’re still knotted, but the sound still brings a warm, fluttery feeling to Stiles’s heart. And even better, Derek makes the cursed noise stop, which automatically awards him the title of best boyfriend ever. 

Of course, Stiles has to reconsider that title when Derek places the phone on Stiles’s ear, and he realizes that Derek had accepted the call instead of sending it to voicemail. 

He covers the speaker with his hand and growls at Derek for being such a traitor, but the alpha doesn’t even seem to care. He just chuckles warmly again and runs a soothing hand up and down Stiles’s side and over his hip. The addition of sweet, gentle kisses on his shoulders doing a damn good job of earning Stiles’s forgiveness. 

He starts to drift off again until he hears his dad’s voice sounding out a questioning greeting. “ _Hello? Stiles, you there?_ ”

“Yep! Hey, uh… Oh! Yeah, hey, Dad. What’s up?” _Smooth, Stiles… real smooth…_

“ _Are you still sleeping? It’s almost noon._ ” The sheriff doesn’t really sound surprised. More resigned, actually. But whatever… he _would_ still be sleeping if his dad hadn’t called just then. 

“It’s summer,” is his only justification. 

“ _You’d better start looking for a job that has evening hours if you’re going to stick to this kind of schedule, kid._ ” Ugh. Why does his dad have to remind him about that?

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.” Stiles shifts his body in an attempt to get more comfortable, but in doing so he unintentionally pushes his ass back against Derek. Which in turn pushes his still full knot against Stiles’s prostate. The action causes a jolt of pleasure to shoot straight to his dick, and he bites his lip to keep from moaning. “Was there a reason for this wake-up call?” he asks.

The question comes out high-pitched and reedy, and Stiles wishes that he could throw his phone across the room. Even more so when Derek grips him firmly by the hip and grinds his knot right on back there again… and again… and again…

“ _Are you alright, Stiles? You’re not coming down with something, are you?_ ” 

“I’m fine!” Stiles squeaks. Derek relents, and Stiles clears his throat and takes a moment to compose himself. “I’m fine,” he repeats, much more normally. “What do you want, Dad?”

“ _Can’t a father just call to talk to his son for no reason?_ ” 

Is today ‘Torture Stiles Day,’ and nobody bothered to mention it? 

“No, he can’t. Now _please_ just tell me what you waaaant!” Stiles is in full-on whiney brat mode now and he doesn’t even care. Like, at all. 

“ _What I want is for you to get your ass up, get dressed, and come meet me at the diner for lunch. ASAP, kid._ ”

“Ugh… why?” Everything that’s not his bed is just soooo far away.

“ _Because I’m hungry. And if you aren’t there to stop me, I’m going to eat my weight in curly fries. Do you really want that on your conscience, Stiles?_ ”

Damn it. His dad absolutely knows how to play him. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Derek thrusts again – reminding Stiles that he very well could be coming, and maybe he should get off the fucking phone, pronto. “See you soon!” 

He goes to end the call but hears his father’s shouted plea of, “ _Alone, Stiles! I want you to come alone!_ ” Ha! Not really likely, Stiles thinks. At least not the way he means it. 

Though he does actually understand what his dad is saying, and he chooses to hang up without acknowledging him – not sure yet weather he wants to pretend he didn’t hear him or not. 

Derek stills behind him. “I guess we should try not to move too much then. You can’t go anywhere until we’re untied.” 

“Oh, _now_ you think we should ‘try not to move too much,’ do you? You know, nobody like a tease, Derek.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true,” Derek replies, heavily implying that if not both, then at least one person in the room likes being teased very much. 

“Ok, fine. You may be right. But not today, Sourwolf. Today I have to leave this bed and go to lunch with my dad, and that’s not happening until I come again.” Derek huffs. “Hey, this is your fault, dude,” Stiles says, pulling the covers back and motioning at his very interested member. 

Derek reaches down to gather some of the slickness leaking down Stiles’s thighs, then wraps his hand around Stiles’s dick, stroking firmly. He thrusts just enough to press insistently against Stiles’s prostate, and within a couple of minutes, Stiles is close again. 

He has one arm up – his hand grasping tightly to Derek’s thick, black hair. And he’s panting quickly, his heart beating hummingbird-fast. He’s close – so close – when Derek just stops and whispers, “What did I say about calling me ‘Dude,’ Stiles?”

Stiles wants to cry. He’s so fucking close and this asshole thinks he can just… “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Alpha! Please let me come. I won’t do it again, I promise!” Ok, well apparently this is no time for standing on principles. And Stiles finds once again that begging actually feels really good sometimes – Especially when it results in Derek jerking him off again.

Which he does… and it’s glorious. 

It’s quick, and it’s dirty, and Stiles isn’t even sure if Derek comes again. But Stiles sure does. 

And Stiles definitely falls back asleep afterwards. But Derek only lets him rest until his knot has gone down enough to separate them. Then he’s awoken with a gentle shake of his shoulder and a quiet suggestion. “Come on, pup. Time to get up.” Stiles whines and flops onto his back, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub the sleep out of them. Or at least attempt to.

“Why can’t I just sleep forever?” Stiles asks, somewhat rhetorically. 

“Because sleeping forever means you’re dead. And you’re not allowed to do that. Ever.” Derek reaches for both of Stiles’s hands and pulls him up to a sitting position. “Ready for a shower?” 

“Only if you join me,” Stiles responds, draping himself into Derek’s arms like he expects Derek to carry him there. Which he does expect, actually. 

And Derek obliges with only a minimal amount of sighing and subtle eye-rolling. But Stiles knows that it’s all for show, because when Derek assures him, “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” his heartbeat never falters.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about this chapter: I’ve decided that I really like Jordan Parrish for some reason, so I’m involving him more going forward than I had originally planned. I know that I got at least one negative comment about him in an earlier chapter, so I’m aware that my decision might ruffle some feathers. 
> 
> If this bothers you, please keep in mind that as much as Jordan may wish otherwise, Stiles has already made his choice, and his choice is Derek. 
> 
> But the author of this story is an absolute whore for possessive, jealous alphas. And this story isn’t even half-way done yet. So Jordan will be sticking around for the foreseeable future… for reasons. But I have also planned some character development for him in later chapters that will mostly resolve his epic crush and hopefully make his character more endearing to even the worst of the naysayers. 
> 
> Oh, and just in case it isn’t clear, and I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before, but just in-case I haven’t… I’ve not actually watched any episodes of Teen Wolf past the one where Derek gets de-aged (i.e. the first episode with Jordan). So if Jordan is OOC, or anything about him clashes with canon, that’s why. The Jordan in this story is almost completely from my own imagination, so everything other than what he looks like and the fact that he’s a deputy is completely made up by me. 
> 
> I hope this doesn’t put too many people off, but if you’ve liked the story so far, please consider sticking around. There's still all sorts of great stuff yet to come! ;)

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles coaxes. “Park the car and join us. Alphas gotta eat too, you know!”

“He doesn’t want me there, Stiles.” Derek’s reminder is gentle, and so is the hand he uses to cradle Stiles’s jaw. “I’ll go meet up with the rest of the pack and come back to get you in an hour.”

Stiles really doesn’t want Derek to go. He feels a physical need to be near the alpha, and the thought of him leaving causes a twisting in his gut that doesn’t bode well for a pleasant lunch. 

But he can tell that Derek isn’t going to let him force the issue, so he sighs moodily and moves to leave. “Hey,” Derek says, holding Stiles back. “I’d rather stay here with you, Stiles. I want you to know that.” He leans in and places a sweet kiss on Stiles’s mouth, and it makes the parting a little bit easier somehow. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Ok.” Stiles picks at the hem of his jeans, trying to stall as long as he can. “Hey, do you want me to bring you back something to eat?” 

“Nah, that’s ok. I’ll grab something at the loft. Just make sure that _you_ eat enough.” He catches Derek eyeing him up like he’s a malnourished kitten or something, which makes Stiles roll his eyes and huff. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Babe,” Stiles says, smirking. “This bad boy is an ironclad, bottomless pit.” He chuckles as he bluffs, and pats his queasy stomach before moving again to leave the car. “Uh, Derek…” 

Stiles looks down pointedly at where Derek is still clinging tightly to his bicep. “Oh. Sorry.” Derek slowly lets go, but not before he leans in closer and nudges Stiles’s head to the side to breathe in the scent. He must not be completely satisfied with what he finds though, because he licks the smooth skin once, sniffs again, and then finally moves back and puts both hands on the steering wheel. “Have a nice lunch,” he says, politely. 

It’s weird – the politeness – but not in a bad way. Stiles hopes that he gets to experience more of it in the future. 

Which is what he’s thinking about (a future with Derek) when he enters the local diner and runs into his dad, who’s waiting for him by the door. 

The place isn’t abnormally busy. But when he looks to the booth where they usually sit, there’s someone seated there already. Stiles is about to be disappointed when he suddenly recognizes the person sitting there, even though he’s in plain clothes today instead of his uniform. And that’s when Stiles narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

“What is Jordan doing here?” he asks. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it really… not if his dad hadn’t met him at the door like this. 

“I ran into Deputy Parrish in the parking lot and asked him to join us.” 

Well that’s just a big, fat lie.

Stiles narrows his eyes even further but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he follows dutifully and sits down on the bench seat next to Jordan when his dad nudges him to do so. Stiles is getting more confused by the minute. 

“Jordan! Hey, man, how’s it going?” Stiles would much rather it be Derek here with them instead of the deputy, but he tries to play nice for his father’s sake. But it’s already proving difficult – Stiles’s stomach is still churning, and sitting this close to someone who doesn’t smell like family… like pack, seems to be making it worse. 

“It’s going well, Stiles. And how are things with you?” Damn. His eyes are just as pretty as Stiles remembers. Though the main thought in Stiles’s head right now is how similar they are to Derek’s. So Stiles has a thing for green eyes – exactly zero people should be surprised by this fact. 

“Good! Yeah, really good!” It’s a half-truth at best, but the deputy doesn’t need to know that. 

The server comes and takes their order – the young woman making eyes at Jordan while barely sparing a glance for Stiles. The deputy either doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care. His eyes stay on Stiles for the most part, only looking away when their food finally arrives. 

Stiles nods and smiles and tries to act like he’s following what the other two men are saying. But in actuality he’s counting down the minutes until Derek will be back to get him, while pushing his food around his plate and trying to make it look like some of it is ending up in his stomach. 

“Well that just sounds perfect for you, Stiles. Doesn’t it?” Stiles hears the sheriff say at one point. “Which is why I told Jordan that you’d be more than happy to accept!” 

Stiles’s head pops up when his dad’s words finally register. “Wait, what? What am I happily accepting?” Jordan smiles and rubs the back of his neck – looking over to the sheriff to explain. 

“He’s just kidding, Jordan… right, Stiles?” Stiles chuckles nervously and gives his father a wide-eyed look. “Working part-time at your father’s hardware store sounds like the perfect opportunity. Doesn’t it, Stiles?”

“Uhhhh…” Stiles feels extremely caught out. Working? Hardware store? What?

“It was just an idea,” Jordan is quick to assure him. “When your dad mentioned that you were looking for a summer job, I remembered that my father was thinking about finding some extra help for the next few months. Please don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

But how could he possibly say no? He’d have to deal with his dad’s disappointed face for the entire summer if he turns down the first job offering he’s ever had – especially if the offer is a favor, as this one seems to be. 

That doesn’t mean he won’t at least try…

“Yeah! Of course! That sounds great, obviously. But you know I don’t really have much experience with any of that kind of stuff, right?” 

Beacon Hills has been able to retain more thriving small, local businesses than most in this day and age (And honestly… that, more than anything, should be glaring proof of the existence of the supernatural) so he’s familiar with Parrish Hardware, as well as all the other shops in the downtown area. And while technically true (he doesn’t really have much experience), he also isn’t completely unqualified. 

Stiles’s mom had been quite handy before she got sick. She had always let him help her, and he had begun picking up little projects here and there since she’s been gone. He replaced a broken toilet seat and repainted the back door – but he certainly isn’t qualified to be handing out advice as if he actually knows what he’s doing. 

“It would probably hurt your family’s business more than help it if people started asking me which wrenches they should use or whatever. Like, what is a monkey wrench anyway? Is that really a thing? I certainly don’t know.”

Crap. There’s that disappointed face already. It’s like a Goddamned knife to the heart every time. 

“Oh, well, it would be mostly stocking and working the register,” Jordan assures him. “My sister Tabitha pretty much runs the place during the summer. I help out once in a while, but I was never really interested in making the business my life. Tabby loves it though. She plans on taking over some day.”

“She’s your younger sister, right?” Stiles asks. 

Jordan nods and smiles. “Yeah. She goes to school with you, I think. Same year even, maybe.” 

“Yeah, I think we had a class or two together.” Damn it. Stiles can’t really think of a way to say no to this job without looking like a complete asshole. 

“Hmm…” He’s stalling, trying to think of something plausible. “Workday probably starts pretty early around there, huh?” Jordan tilts his head and looks confused. “Weren’t you just telling me this morning that I should look for a job with night shifts, Dad?” 

Stiles turns to look hopefully at his father. “Well, you know, son… It’s probably best if you don’t get accustomed to sleeping all day.” Stiles’s heart sinks into his already churning stomach. “The new school year will be starting before you know it, and it would be hell to have to reverse such bad habits.”

Shit. Looks like Stiles officially has a summer job. “I guess if you put it _that_ way…”

The tension between father and son must be palpable even to Jordan’s human senses, because he finishes his food pretty quickly after that and excuses himself to the restroom. 

Once he’s out of earshot, Stiles doesn’t hesitate to make his displeasure known. “Seriously, Dad?! Making life-altering decisions for me without even a head’s up?”

The sheriff shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but doesn’t back down. “You know, I could say the same to you, Stiles,” he whisper-shouts. “You seem to be making all sorts of decisions without discussing them with me lately.” 

A very familiar feeling of guilt starts to rear its ugly head, and Stiles suspects that his father’s grievances with him are really starting to add up. Stiles is pretty sure that there’s one in particular that is fueling the sheriff’s actions now, though. 

“This is about Derek, isn’t it?” he asks, accusingly. His dad looks to make sure Jordan isn’t on his way back yet before sighing and running a hand down his face. It’s a habit that Stiles knows he gets from his dad, and he briefly wonders if it’s a learned behavior or something hereditary. “I thought you were ok with him?” 

“Yeah, well I thought so too. Turns out, thinking about it is one thing… But actually observing it with my own two eyes is something completely different!” Uh oh… “Honestly, Stiles, I didn’t think I’d have to explicitly tell you that I’m not comfortable with Derek sleeping over.” Crap. “He’s lucky he had his clothes on or I might not have been able to stop myself from shooting him.” Oh _holy_ crap. “Even so, it was a near thing!”

“So what? You see us asleep together one time and now you’re forbidding it?” Stiles tries to take a deep breath to calm down. The panic is amplifying his upset stomach and making him nauseous. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, Stiles.” He takes out his wallet and removes some cash to pay for lunch. “I just want to make sure that this relationship doesn’t completely take over your life. I know how you get when you like someone.” 

Stiles has been talking about Lydia pretty consistently since about the third grade. It would be surprising if his dad _didn’t_ know how fixated he can get. But what his dad _doesn’t_ know is that it’s too late anyway. Whether he’s with Derek or not, Stiles’s life has already been ‘taken over,’ as he puts it. Though somehow, Stiles doesn’t think that learning this fact would be much of a comfort for the sheriff. 

“And Jordan is what? My babysitter? Did you recruit his whole family to keep tabs on me this summer, or just him?”

“As a matter of fact, Stiles, the job was actually his idea. I mentioned that you were looking, and he suggested it.” Well, that’s interesting…

“I don’t think Derek will like it very much,” Stiles mentions contemplatively. 

“And why is that?” the sheriff asks. “Is the job not fancy enough for him?” Stiles outright laughs at that. Derek? Fancy?

“Uh, no. Derek doesn’t care about any of that.” The sheriff’s shoulders relax when he hears that, and Stiles realizes that some of the things that they learned about Derek at dinner must be making his dad deal with some feelings of inadequacy. But that’s not the point right now. “What Derek _does_ care about is Jordan. Or more specifically, he cares about the fact that Jordan wants to get in my pants.” The sheriff chokes on a sip of water. “Or did you not know about that?” Stiles asks innocently. 

His dad’s face is suddenly red, and he goes about fastidiously wiping up every drop of water that he can find. He very pointedly does not look at Stiles, though. And he also doesn’t say a God damn word. 

“You _did_ know about that?!” Stiles shouts, appalled. 

“Now Stiles…” 

“You hypocrite!” 

“Keep your voice down!”

“Derek is too old for me, but Jordan is A-Ok?! They’re practically the same age!”

“They’re exactly the same age, as a matter of fact,” his dad says.

“Then how can you-”

“You may think that you’re so much smarter than me, Stiles…” Stiles blushes, chagrined. “And perhaps you’re even right. But even _you_ couldn’t think it would pass my notice that ever since Derek Hale came back to Beacon Hills, you’ve been getting in even more trouble than usual.”

“Dad-”

“And yes, I know that Jordan is fond of you…” Stiles scoffs. “But I also know that he is capable of protecting you – even if that means protecting you from yourself. Which is more than I can say for Derek.”

Stiles wants to stand up for Derek – to assure his dad that Derek is more than capable of protecting him. But it was Stiles himself just the other day who pointed out the fact that Derek already failed to protect him from being bitten. Not that it was really Derek’s fault. It’s also not something that he would willingly admit to – even if his dad _did_ know about the werewolf thing… which he doesn’t. 

Stiles is quiet for so long that his dad sighs and leans forward, speaking calmly in an undertone. “Look, Stiles,” he begins. “I’m not saying that you can’t see Derek. I’m just saying that you need to make sure that seeing Derek isn’t the only thing you do this summer.”

They both look up when they hear the bathroom door creak open. Stiles watches as Jordan gets waylaid by their over-eager server, noticing how the deputy’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes until he looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with Stiles.

A few moments later, Jordan has managed to escape from his admirer and is standing next to Stiles at their table. “So, are you ready to go?” he asks, smiling and bouncing on his feet. “or wait… you probably drove yourself here, right? Do you just want to follow me, or…”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, confused. “Where am I following you to?”

Jordan turns to the sheriff. “Oh, I thought you had asked him…”

“Sorry, Jordan, we were just getting to that part. Stiles, Jordan asked me if he could take you to the new arcade that just opened up down on Main St.”

“Right now?” Stiles asks, surprised. Jordan nods and smiles, obviously not expecting a refusal. “Well, I have-” 

“And I told him that you’d love to go, right, kid?” His father gives him a very significant look – a look that says Stiles shouldn’t argue with him about this – and stands to leave. 

And suddenly, Stiles remembers all the shit he’s put his dad through lately and he just doesn’t have the heart to say no. If going to the arcade with Jordan for a little while will make his dad happy, Stiles is willing to do it.

The fact that it will probably also get his dad off his back about Derek for a little while is reason enough to say yes. Now he just has to think of what to tell Derek. 

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like fun,” he says, following the other two out the door. “I’ll have to ride with you though, if that’s ok. I actually didn’t drive here.”

“No problem.” Jordan turns to shake Stiles’s dad’s hand. “Sheriff, thank you for lunch. Next time’s on me.” 

“Looking forward to it, son.” Stiles glares at his dad for the man’s obvious preference for Jordan over Derek, but the sheriff hardly even seems to notice. “You keep him out of trouble now, you hear?”

“You can count on me, sir.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard he’s worried that they might get stuck that way. But he plasters on a fake smile a moment later and follows Jordan to his truck. 

He half expects the deputy to open his fucking door for him too, but he doesn’t. He simply unlocks the doors with a simple click of the fob and joins Stiles in the cab.

Stiles ignores him in favor of shooting off a quick text to Derek.

_Stiles: Change of plans. Dad’s making me do something. I’ll call you when I’m done._

But he looks up when the vehicle doesn’t start moving. 

“Seatbelt?” Jordan reminds him.

Stiles just barely stops himself from bitching about that, but instead he clicks the belt into place and folds his hands in his lap. 

His phone pings with a text message notification, and he removes it to find a response from Derek.

**Derek: What is he making you do? Where are you?**

Stiles turns off the ringer and slips his phone back into his pocket. He figures that he’d rather ask forgiveness from the alpha later, than try to ask his permission now. He knows that he wouldn’t get it, and he doesn’t want to argue about it right now anyway. His stomach isn’t any more settled now than it had been before, and he’s starting to feel a sort of pervasive restlessness again. He hopes Jordan doesn’t plan on staying very long. Though either way, Stiles thinks he should at least try to set the record straight about one thing in particular…

“Jordan,” Stiles begins, turning in his seat. “My dad probably didn’t mention it, but I feel that you should know that I’ve recently started seeing someone.”

The smile slips from the deputy’s face, but only for a moment. 

“It’s Derek Hale, right?” Stiles nods, surprised. 

“How did you-”

“I saw the two of you together… in your driveway.” Oh, right. Now Stiles remembers. “Besides, your dad told me.”

“He did?” 

“He did.” Jordan confirms. “But one can never have too many friends, right?” Stiles smiles, genuinely this time. 

“So you want to be friends?” Stiles asks.

“Absolutely.” Jordan maneuvers his truck into a parking spot. 

“ _Just_ friends?” Stiles clarifies. 

Jordan smirks, but pointedly doesn’t answer the question. Well, at least he didn’t lie. Stiles can say that much for him. “Come on, Trouble,” Jordan says with a wink. “There’s an air hockey table in there with our names on it.”

Stiles sighs, but follows Jordan out of the truck and into the building. Maybe one or two quick games of air hockey will help calm the increasing restlessness that Stiles is feeling. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek growls, stopping just short of crushing the cell phone that’s clutched in his hand. “Damn it, Stiles.” The pup can be so frustrating sometimes! Well, most of the time, honestly. 

But this is no time for indulging in Stiles’s willful tendencies. Peter has finally proven himself useful by getting a lead on where Deucalion will be tonight, and Derek doesn’t want to miss his chance at ending this once and for all. 

But to do so, Derek needs to know that Stiles is safe. And right now he’s not even answering his phone. The new wolf runs wild at the best of times. And his first full moon certainly won’t be the best of times. 

Now Derek can admit that Stiles’s wildness, though trying, is part of what Derek loves most about him. The alpha loves a challenge, and Stiles is even more challenging than most. 

But right now – when the full moon’s rise is only hours away, and there are multiple alphas wanting to challenge Derek’s claim – a meek, compliant mate might be a novel change of pace. 

Though when Derek gets out of his car, catches Stiles’s scent on the breeze, and hears his laughter through the open door of the arcade, Derek remembers why no one else even comes close. 

He takes a deep breath to try to calm himself before going inside. He knows where Stiles is because the girl at the diner had told him about the conversation that she had overheard between Stiles, the sheriff, and Jordan Parrish. 

Jordan Parrish… Up until now, Derek has been lucky enough to avoid the man since his return to Beacon Hills. They’d been acquaintances in high school – same grade, same basketball team – how could they not be? But they had shared something else in school that had kept them from actually being friends… an interest in Paige. 

And it looks like their taste in romantic partners remains similar to this day. 

Derek stalks around the perimeter of the room, gaze fixed on the pair where they’re ostensibly competing against each other at a basketball game. In reality, they seem to just be goofing around – knocking shoulders and waving hands in front of each other’s faces in an attempt to distract their opponent from actually making any baskets. 

Derek growls at the thought of Stiles smelling like the other man. Which in-turn causes Stiles to snap his head up and scan the room until his eyes land on Derek. 

His immediate reaction is to smile, but then Stiles seems to realize that the alpha is not very happy with the situation, because his expression changes to one of unease as he steps aside to put a good two feet of space between himself and the deputy.

Derek jerks his chin in the direction of the exit, and then walks that way himself, without waiting to see if Stiles is following. The place is loud and dark and fairly busy, and Derek can’t wait to get out of there and take Stiles with him. They need to get back to the loft and decide together exactly what they should do when the sun goes down. 

Taking a big gulp of fresh air once his feet hit the pavement helps Derek to keep his frustration under control, but the sooner they can leave, the better. “Come on,” he says to Stiles a moment later, taking him by the arm. 

But Stiles plants his feet and refuses to budge. “Derek, I can’t just leave. My dad would be pissed. I told you I’d call you when I was done.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You said that your dad is making you do this, right?” Stiles nods. “Your _dad_ is making you go on a date with Parrish? Why?”

Stiles huffs out a sigh. “It’s hard to explain.” 

Stiles takes exasperation to a whole new level, Derek swears. “Fine, whatever. Explain later. Or don’t. Let’s just _go_ , Stiles.” 

Another tug of his arm doesn’t appear to do any good. “Derek, I told you – I have to stay. Let go of my arm.” 

It’s said quietly, but the challenge is there regardless – raising Derek’s hackles and instinctually making him flash his alpha red eyes in an attempt to force Stiles’s submission. His wolf feels even more threatened by the situation than the more human part of Derek’s nature, and the human part is feeling pretty fucking threatened already. 

The fact that he’s so completely focused on Stiles is the only excuse Derek has for not realizing sooner that they’re no longer the only two people on the sidewalk just outside the arcade’s glass doors. Unfortunately, it’s not until Parrish’s hand is breaking Derek’s hold on Stiles’s arm that he even notices that the deputy is there.

“He told you to let him go.” 

Derek drops his gaze to the ground and clenches his fists and his jaw until the sudden urge to shift and rip out the deputy’s throat passes. When he looks up again, Stiles is holding Parrish back and trying to coax him into going back inside. Luckily for Derek’s wolf, who’s urging for a fight, Parrish doesn’t seem inclined to listen. 

“I think you should leave, Derek.” Jordan says as he positions himself between the two wolves. “Stiles doesn’t want you here.” 

If Derek were a more insecure person, being told multiple times by multiple people in the same day that he wasn’t wanted would make him feel bad about himself. As it is, he’s just about fed up with it. 

“This doesn’t concern you, Jordan,” Derek spits out, getting up in the deputy’s face. 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that it does.” Derek can hear several voices start whispering to each other in the background. Their altercation is starting to draw a crowd, but all Derek can see is the man in front of him who’s stopping him from being able to take his mate back to the safety of his den. “Now are you going to leave him alone? Or do I need to get out the cuffs?”

Derek punches him. 

He knows that it’s a bad idea before he does it. He even holds himself back from using his full strength because he knows how bad of an idea it is. 

But he can’t stop himself. The force of the punch knocks Parrish right on his ass, and Derek half-expects him to stay down. 

His wolf rejoices when instead, the deputy scrambles back up and tackles Derek bodily before landing a punch of his own. 

Derek knows how strong a werewolf’s bones are. So he’s surprised as well as infuriated when he hears, as well as feels, the sharp crack of his jaw sustaining at least a hairline fracture. It will heal in moments, but that doesn’t make Derek any less pissed off about it.

They trade several more blows before a familiar scent registers and Derek’s head snaps up to search the crowd for a person that he recognizes by smell, but doesn’t know by sight. It’s the smell of the female member of Deucalion’s alpha pack that he’s looking for in vain. 

He dodges Jordan’s next hit – spinning around to continue scanning the crowd – and that’s when he realizes that Stiles isn’t there anymore. 

“Stiles!” he shouts, head flipping back and forth. He notices a kid, probably around ten years old, pick up a cell phone off the sidewalk. It’s Stiles’s phone – Derek can tell even from this distance. So he snatches it out of the kid’s hands and slips it into his pocket before taking off down the sidewalk in the direction his nose is telling him to go. 

Derek can scent Stiles and the alpha on the air. He’s surprised that Stiles’s scent doesn’t reek of fear, but then he picks up the telltale burn of wolfsbane and he understands. She must have snuck up on Stiles and injected him with enough wolfsbane to make him woozy, or even unconscious. With all eyes on Derek and Jordan’s fight, it would have been simple enough to drag Stiles into a nearby alley and shove him into a waiting car. 

“Hale! Where do you think you’re going?!” 

Derek doesn’t pay much attention to Jordan’s protested shouts as he makes his way down the sidewalk to his car. He knows he runs the risk of being a wanted fugitive again for running away after assaulting a sheriff’s deputy, but nothing short of incapacitation is going to keep him from going after his mate right now.

Which is why a slight overreaction occurs when the deputy catches up with him a fair distance away from the prying eyes of the good people of Beacon hills. 

“Derek Hale, I’m placing you under a-AH! Holy Shit! What the _hell_?!” Jordan cowers against the brick wall of the alley where Derek is looming over him – half-shifted and snarling in the human’s face. “What _are_ you?!”

The metal of Jordan’s handcuffs clink as Derek breaks them off his right wrist and lets the mangled heap fall to the damp ground. Fuck. He’s not going to be able to play this off as a quirk of the light. “I’m a werewolf. But it doesn’t matter right now. Stiles has been taken!”

“Taken? What do you mean, taken? Taken by who? By someone like you?” Derek’s claws and fangs are hidden again by now, and he knows that his eyes are green once more. But Jordan’s gaze keeps darting around Derek’s body – probably searching for any signs that his wolfy bits will be back and tearing him to shreds any time soon.

“If by ‘someone like me’ you mean a werewolf… then yes.” Derek pulls up his phone and types a short message into a group text to the pack telling them what Derek knows so far. Which isn’t a whole lot.

“Are you calling the sheriff?” Jordan asks. 

“Of course not.” He tells the pack to meet him at the rendezvous point they had talked about earlier. 

“Well, if you aren’t going to, then I am.” Derek’s head snaps up to glare at Jordan before he steps forward to snatch the phone out of his hands. A simple flick of his wrist smashes the phone against the brick wall, and then he gets right back up in Jordan’s personal space to growl in his face again.

“You are _not_ going to call the cops in on this,” he seethes. “Especially not the sheriff!”

“The man’s son has been kidnapped and you’re not going to tell him?!” Jordan asks, shocked.

“He doesn’t know about us,” Derek explains. “No one in law enforcement around here knows. They’re not equipped to handle it.” 

“’Us?’” Jordan asks, panic evident in his voice. “ _’Us?’_ ” he reiterates. “Please tell me by ‘us,’ you mean werewolves in general, and not that you’ve turned the sheriff’s son into a werewolf and the man doesn’t even know about it!” 

Derek doesn’t say anything, just keeps his head down to read the pack’s responses to his texts, which he’s sure is telling enough.

“Jesus Christ, Derek!” Jordan says, extremely distressed. “How can you expect me to not call the sheriff?! You turned his son into a _werewolf_!”

Derek huffs and knocks Jordan back against the wall again. “It wasn’t me! I’m not the one who bit him! But if you get his dad involved in this and Sheriff Stilinski gets hurt or dies… Stiles will never forgive us. Either of us! So shut the fuck up about calling for help!”

He’s a split-second away from shoving off and stalking out of the alley when Jordan grabs the leather of his jacket to hold him back. “Fine. On one condition…”

Derek nods, willing to hear him out if it stops the deputy from calling the sheriff. 

“I’m coming with you.” Derek rolls his eyes and tries to break Jordan’s hold, but he’s surprisingly strong. “I won’t call the sheriff. I won’t call anyone. But Stiles is in danger and I promised to protect him. I won’t go back on my word, Derek.”

The alpha growls at the thought of anyone else being necessary to protect _Derek’s_ mate, but he can’t risk the human running off and telling more humans about what’s going on. Especially Stiles’s father. It would only make matters infinitely worse. And doing anything to knowingly endanger Stiles’s dad would be a betrayal that might turn him against Derek permanently. It’s an unforgivable sin, and Derek knows it.

Jordan, on the other hand, is a bit more disposable. “Fine. But you’re riding with me. And you do as I say, no matter _what_ I say… got it?”

“Got it,” he responds, pulling himself up to his full height and visibly steeling himself for whatever is about to happen. “Just let me get my gun from my truck.”

“It’s not going to help,” Derek warns him. It’s most likely true, but Derek allows him to grab it anyway. 

They’re going to need all the help they can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about comments: I apologize for not always answering comments in a timely fashion. Sometimes I get in weird, antisocial moods and responding to comments is especially trying to me for some reason. Idk why. It's just a thing. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> But please be aware that I read every single one of them and I appreciate all the wonderful things people have to say. Rest assured that if you leave me a nice comment (or kudos, or bookmarks, or subscriptions), you have absolutely made me smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and I really, _really_ appreciate it. 
> 
> This fic has garnered more attention than I could ever have dared hoped for (Over 1000 subscriptions?! Are you shitting me?! Holy cow!) and the amazing amount of love I feel from my readers has kept me writing even when times get tough. Thank you, thank you, thank you… 
> 
> XOXO


	16. Chapter 16

Pulling to a stop at the rendezvous point, Derek immediately knows that something is wrong… Well, even _more_ wrong than he previously thought. 

Peter is there, but no one else seems to be. “Why are you alone?” Derek asks.

“Why _aren’t_ you?” Peter counters, a crooked smirk aimed in Parrish’s direction. 

“I’ll explain later,” Derek responds. He’s got more important things to worry about right now. “Where are Scott and the others?” 

“They were going to come, but it was pointed out that some members of your pack still don’t have much control on the full moon – which, if you hadn’t noticed, is tonight.”

“There’s still hours until moonrise! Why would they-”

“Hey, I tried, Derek. But I guess Stiles’s safety just isn’t that high a priority to his so-called friends.” 

Derek’s knee-jerk reaction is stunned disbelief. Scott’s best friend has been abducted and he’s not even going to _try_ to save him? It’s unthinkable. 

But then Derek remembers all the times that Stiles has been in harm’s way while Scott barely lifted a finger to help. In fact, Derek recalls that several of those times Scott had been the cause of the danger in the first place – whether directly or indirectly. 

It’s painful to accept that the new alpha would be so callous, but Derek doesn’t really have time to dwell on it right now. “We don’t have time for this,” he huffs. “We’re going to have to take our chances. We can’t wait any longer.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Peter says, turning to begin down the path leading to the old distillery. Derek joins him and Parrish follows silently. “But seriously, Derek, what’s with officer friendly?” 

Derek sighs. “He was there when Stiles was taken and he saw me shift.” 

Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “So why didn’t you just rip out his throat and dump his body in the woods?” The deputy’s steps falter and Derek hears him flip the safety on his gun. “Or are you hoping that the alpha pack will take care of it for you?” 

Derek glares, but doesn’t respond. Honestly, the thought had crossed his mind. He’s not proud of it, and he absolutely isn’t about to admit to it. 

Thankfully, Parrish changes the subject. “Can someone explain to me just exactly what we’re about to walk into here?” 

Derek whirls to face him – glad to have someone to growl his frustrations to. “All you need to know is if you have to shoot someone, aim for their head, or their heart. It might not kill them, but it will at least slow them down.” Not waiting for a response, Derek turns back around and keeps heading down the path at a jog. 

Parrish keeps up, not ready for the subject to drop. “What’s the plan? Do we know how many hostiles to expect?” Derek stays silent. “Do you know _why_ they took Stiles?” Still, Derek doesn’t speak, so Parrish grabs him by the arm to pull him to a stop. “Shouldn’t we at least find a point of entry with more cover instead of blazing straight through the front door?!”

Derek snarls, half-shifted and getting perilously close to being out of control. “They can already smell us!” he shouts. “They could hear the car before we even parked! Now shut your fucking mouth and try not to get yourself killed!” 

The bright afternoon sun on his skin feels incongruous with the dark swirl of emotions blacking out Derek’s insides – but it does help the alpha clearly see the look of hate-fueled anger on the deputy’s face. Not that he actually needs the visual. The acrid stench of his animosity clouds the air around them like a fog. 

“Alright, boys… time to play nice,” Peter coaxes. “Kill each other later if you want, but we don’t stand a chance against Deucalion if you two don’t stow your shit immediately.” 

He hates to admit it, but Peter is right. They’re close enough now that Derek is able to pick up the scent of every wolf inside the distillery. The twins are there (so much for their claim of defection). As are Deucalion and the female (Derek still doesn’t know her name). 

But the strongest scent by far is Stiles – stronger even than the alpha of the alpha pack. Just the scent of him causes Derek’s heart rate to rise exponentially. Stiles smells of fear, but even more so of anger. And an overwhelming sense of pride hits Derek right in the chest – squeezing his lungs and causing his eyes to prickle with unfamiliar tears. Stiles is strong. If anyone can get through this, he can.

Derek has the urge to shift completely, but he’s not yet sure if he’ll need his hands or his voice, so he holds off. He can’t fight back the growl though. It builds steadily as the trio approach the sliding metal door, and Derek practically rips it off the tracks getting it open. 

A high-pitched whine helps Derek zero in on Stiles. He’s fully shifted – pacing the floor of a locked metal cage. Stiles’s scent floods with relief, but he doesn’t stop pacing or panting – tongue lolling out of his mouth between yips and whines. Derek’s heart breaks for him. And he wants so badly just to shift and go to him – to shield him with his larger body and soothe him until he’s calm and happy. 

But first he’s got a few wolves to take care of. Derek cracks his neck and snarls at Deucalion and his pack while Peter flanks him on the right and Parrish takes up position on his left – gun drawn and pointed at Deucalion. 

“Where’s Stiles?” he asks Derek. Stiles barks and wags his tail nervously. Parrish understands immediately and gasps, the point of the gun drooping towards the floor. “…Stiles?” 

The wolf finally stops pacing and drops to the floor, head resting on his paws while he whines. The sight appears to strengthen the deputy’s resolve, because he clenches his jaw and aims his gun much more steadily at Deucalion. “Let him go,” Parrish demands. “Now. Before I put a bullet in your head.”

Deucalion smiles and begins folding up his walking stick before pulling off and pocketing his darkened glasses. “How quaint,” he remarks, aiming his words at Derek and Peter. “Have you acquired a new pet, Derek? Or is this one simply cannon fodder?”

As if on cue, the three other members of his pack half-shift and roar in Parrish’s direction, making the deputy reek of fear, even though his body language doesn’t change at all. He’s well trained, at least. Derek will have to give him that one. 

“Now, now,” Deucalion tsks. “Let us hold off on harming Stiles’s friends for the time being.” Stiles whines again and gets back up to resume pacing the length of the cage. There isn’t very much room, but Derek’s pretty sure that it doesn’t matter to Stiles. He’s not sure if it’s the effect of the full moon, or simply the sheer amount of stress he’s under… but whatever it is, Derek can tell that Stiles is not in complete control of himself right now either. 

“I want my mate to be happy, after all,” Deucalion continues. “And I know that he won’t be happy if we have to kill his friends, now will he? Will you, Stiles?” He turns to look into Stiles’s glowing orange eyes – his own eyes burning red. “Will you be happy when all your friends are dead, sweet boy? Is denying me worth losing everyone you’ve ever loved?” 

Stiles’s hackles raise – ears laid flat against his head as he snarls at the head alpha. He’s beautiful in his ferocity, and Derek thinks he’s waited long enough. But just as he’s about to perform the quickest non-sexual striptease in history so that he can complete the shift unimpeded, the twins suddenly grab on to Deucalion’s arms in a restraining hold, and Peter rushes forward to attack him.

Momentarily stunned by surprise, it takes Derek longer than it should to notice the female alpha heading out a side door. A quick glance shows that Peter already has his fangs sunk into Deucalion’s throat, so Derek takes off running after the woman. 

As soon as he’s through the door, she’s already gone. He could follow her… Derek could hunt her down and finish her, but he hears Stiles howl for him and he slides to a stop – kicking up gravel and finding it difficult to immediately catch his balance. 

Making a split second decision, Derek turns back around and enters the building once more. Deucalion is lying motionless in a pool of blood on the floor while Peter recovers nearby. The twins stand warily, waiting to see what Derek will do now. But he doesn’t care about them. 

All he cares about is getting Stiles out of that cage and into his arms. The wolf is wagging his tail enthusiastically and pawing at the bars of the cage while keeping up a pretty steady flow of barking. And Parrish is at the cage door, trying to puzzle out how to set Stiles free.

“Move,” Derek demands of them both. Parrish backs away quickly, and Stiles moves to the farthest corner of the cage. Derek uses all his strength to kick the lock, and when he does so it breaks with a satisfying crunch – the pieces crumbling to the ground as the door swings open. 

Derek isn’t fully thinking – at first trying to climb into the cage with Stiles. But the wolf is faster. Stiles bounds out and pounces on Derek, knocking him to the ground and attacking his face and neck with slobbering wolf kisses. 

His muffled whining sounds a lot like crying, and he wedges himself as close into Derek’s arms as possible – taking in deep, wuffling sniffs in all of the most scent-potent areas of Derek’s body before he’s finally able to calm down a little. 

His tail is still wagging, but it stops when they hear Peter roar from across the room. Killing Deucalion restored Peter’s alpha status, and the new alpha’s roar causes Stiles to try even harder to make himself seem smaller. 

“It’s alright,” Derek assures him, tugging lightly on the scruff of Stiles’s neck. “It’s only Peter.” But Derek’s reassurances don’t seem to be very reassuring, unfortunately.

“What about the woman?” Parrish asks, gun still in hand. 

“She ran,” Derek answers. Parrish is about to run after her, Derek thinks, but one of the twins speaks up.

“Let her go,” he says. It’s Ethan, Derek thinks – the calmer, quieter one of the two. “She wanted to leave him too. She was just waiting for the right time. She won’t come back, I promise… Please, just let her go.”

“Fine,” Derek says. Oh, they’re not going to like this… “But you two need to leave also.” 

“What?!” They say in unison. 

“Look, all I know about you is that you’ve killed _at least_ three alphas, and that I know for a fact that I can’t trust either of you not to do whatever you can to try to take Stiles for yourself. So I want you gone. We won’t hurt you, but you can’t stay here.”

They look like they want to argue – Aiden especially. But instead, with one last longing look in Stiles’s direction, they go – the sound of duel motorcycle engines starting up and speeding away moments later. 

“So what happens now,” Parrish asks, inching slowly towards Stiles with his hand outstretched. “Is Stiles going to be ok? Why isn’t he changing back?”

Derek stops the deputy’s hand with a growl. He fears that if the man were to actually touch Stiles, he might not be able to stop himself from ripping his hand off. “Back off.”

Parrish makes a placating gesture and sits back on his heals to observe Stiles from a distance. 

“He’s probably not shifting because he doesn’t have any clothes to put on. Are you alright, Stiles? I’ve got clothes in the car. Do you want to shift?” 

Stiles whines, but also nods his head and licks Derek’s face. Waiting just long enough for Derek to get back on his feet, Stiles begins to bound away toward the door when he’s stopped in his tracks by Peter loudly clearing his throat. 

“Shouldn’t we probably talk about this first?” he asks, pointing towards his own eyes as they briefly glow alpha-red. 

“What is there to talk about?” Derek questions. 

“Well…” Peter drawls, like it would be obvious to anyone with even half a brain cell. “I’m an alpha again,” he elaborates. “So don’t you think we should have a conversation about pack dynamics?” 

“The dynamics don’t change.” Derek needs to make this clear to his uncle once and for all. It helps that Stiles takes up a defensive position between him and Peter, growling lowly as his hackles rise again. “Scott and I are the pack alphas. If you want to stay in the pack, you can. But you defer to us.” 

His words give Peter pause, and Derek moves forward to be on a level with Stiles. He’s honestly not sure how Peter will respond. Derek knows his uncle’s love of the power being an Alpha brings, but with Kate dead, the revenge motivation is gone. Maybe the power will affect him differently this time. 

Then again, with Stiles’s yet unmated status, Peter already has a new motivation to do terrible things in the name of getting what he wants. Derek knows this. He’s well aware of the way his uncle has continued to lust after Stiles – even after Derek made it perfectly clear that Stiles was _his_.

So this could go either way… and Derek is ready for a fight.

“Is that so?” Peter asks, trying to wipe the blood off his face. 

“Yes.” Here it comes, Derek thinks. The last thing he wants to do is kill a family member. Again. But he’ll do it if he has to… for Stiles.

“Well then, I guess we’re done here. You’ll want to get Stiles back to the loft, I suppose. I can take care of this…” Peter nods his head toward the corpse at his feet. “Don’t worry about it, Derek.” 

Derek waits a few beats more – fully expecting Peter to _do something_. Derek’s expectations are at odds with Peter’s words, and it takes him longer than he could have hoped to understand that his expectations were unfounded. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, acknowledging Peter’s offer of help. “Yeah, you take care of that. I need to get Stiles somewhere safe.”

The tension begins to dissipate from the room, but Stiles still gives Derek an inquiring whine and head tilt. Derek just shakes his head and grabs Stiles loosely by his scruff, urging him to leave. 

Once at the car, Derek pulls a set of clothes out of the trunk and tosses them down on the ground. Stiles darts over to them, but Derek holds him back and growls at Parrish until the deputy backs away towards the front of the car. 

It’s difficult for Derek to let Stiles go so that he can shift. It’s even more difficult to stand back and wait until he’s dressed before grabbing Stiles tight – dragging him in close and sniffing at his throat. 

Stiles’s hands are soon twisted tightly in Derek’s hair. But it’s not enough. Derek needs him to be closer somehow, even though they’re pressed up together like two halves of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Did he hurt you?” Derek asks, voice pained and anxious. He takes a deep breath of Stiles’s scent – searching for any trace of lingering distress or physical injury. 

Stiles smells sweet. Warm. Inviting. It’s a scent that beckons Derek – pulling him in until the alpha wants nothing more than to devour it. Breathe it in and drink it up until he’s full of it. And once that’s done, he’ll replace the scent with his own. He’ll cover Stiles up so thoroughly that even regular humans will be able to tell who he belongs to.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no… Derek realizes that he’s hard when Parrish clears his throat – loud and annoyingly. Derek wants to punch him in the face. But he also wants to punch himself in the face. Stiles just went through a traumatizing experience. Derek’s dick is probably one of the last things he should have to worry about right now.

“Let’s go, yeah?” Stiles nods in agreement and gets in the passenger seat. Derek makes sure that he’s buckled in and then closes his door gently. 

He really just wants to get in and drive away – leave the deputy to find his own way home, or wherever else he wants to go. But he knows that he can’t. So he gestures for Parrish to get into the backseat before speeding off back toward the loft.

The swirl of emotions in the car is disorienting. Derek can tell that Parrish is just bursting to ask a thousand questions, but when he finally does speak, it’s quiet and halting. “Stiles… are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah, sure, totally fine.” Stiles is fidgeting in his seat – leg bouncing up and down while he chews on his thumbnail. 

“Stiles, you were a _wolf_. An _actual_ wolf,” Parrish says, as if Stiles didn’t already know. “Either that, or I’ve lost my mind. Can you help me out here? Please explain exactly what I just witnessed, and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the sheriff right now.” 

“No!” Stiles says emphatically. He turns around in his seat to do so, and Derek gets a nose-full of that sweet, seductive scent again. “You _cannot_ say anything to my dad. Even think about it and I’ll rip your throat out… with my teeth.” 

He tries to come off as threatening, but Parrish isn’t scared of him at all. He simply sits and waits for Stiles to go on. 

“Fine then,” Stiles pouts, knowing when he’s defeated. “I wouldn’t hurt you. But you can’t tell my dad. It would kill him.” 

He starts to cry silently – Derek can smell the salt of the tears – and then he turns back around in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in on himself.

The distillery isn’t far from the loft, so he doesn’t have long to sulk. The Camaro shuts off into silence, and Derek turns around to look at Parrish. “Tonight is the full moon,” he explains, trying to be as succinct as possible so that he can get Stiles inside and take care of him properly. “It’s Stiles’s first. We don’t know exactly what to expect for him, and a couple other members of my pack are still having trouble as well. 

“So if you want to stick around, someone will explain everything to you. But you can’t tell anyone anything… especially not the sheriff.” Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, but Parrish seems very wary, so Derek splits the difference. “…at least not right away.”

The caveat appears to calm the deputy, though it definitely upsets Stiles. “Derek, he _can’t_ ,” Stiles whines. “My dad can’t know. He can’t. It won’t be ok. I know it. He won’t-”

“ _Shhh…_ It’s going to be alright, Stiles. You don’t have to worry about that right now.” Derek’s soothing voice and gentle touch calm Stiles enough to stop his panic from getting worse, but his heartbeat is still faster than normal, and he’s still breathing heavily in a manner that could only be described as panting. “Come on… Let’s get you inside.”

When they get inside, instead of taking the elevator up, they go down to the basement level. “Where are we going?” Parrish asks as they begin to descend. 

“I’ve set up a safe space down here for any of the wolves that feel the need to be restrained.”

It suddenly occurs to Derek that not only his betas are down there right now… Scott’s there too. And when he remembers how Scott had refused to come to Stiles’s aid, the overwhelming urge to kill the other alpha rises from the pit of his stomach right up to where his fangs are itching to descend. He’s not happy with the others by any means, but the bulk of his rage is focused on one single source.

“Stiles! Dude! I was so worried!” Scott rushes at Stiles only to be stopped by Derek slamming him up against the wall by his throat.

“Stiles could have _died_ , and yet you refused to even _try_ to help him?! Tell me why I shouldn’t kick you out of this pack!” 

Stiles hovers nearby. He’s obviously distressed by the confrontation, but he doesn’t try to make it stop. He just stands there shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking down at the ground and biting his lip. 

“ _Peter… he… he said…_ ” 

“Loosen your grip, Derek. He can’t speak.” Derek snarls at Parrish’s suggestion, but loosens his grip nonetheless. He knows the deputy is right, damn him.

“I was going to come… we all were. But Peter said that _you_ told him to tell us to stay here. He said you changed your mind and that you two were going to scope the place out first and then call me.” Derek drops his hand completely and steps back, giving Scott room to breathe. “I was just trying to do things your way, Derek. We were all sitting here waiting for your call.”

Stiles moves past him to give Scott a lingering hug. It makes Derek want to murder the young alpha immediately, though he knows that the comfort of his fellow packmate is exactly what Stiles needs right now. 

“I know I’ve been a bad friend, Stiles,” Scott says, his voiced muffled in his friend’s shoulder. “I’m trying to be better.”

Stiles sniffs when they separate – attempting to surreptitiously wipe tears from his eyes. He smiles tentatively, then stiffens and looks up when Boyd unexpectedly steps up to him and engulfs him in an awkward hug. It’s not awkward on Boyd’s part though. That honor is completely on Stiles. 

“Oh! Hey, man…” he squeaks. “I’m happy to see you too.” He pats Boyd hesitantly on the shoulder as the hug goes on, and then relaxes further when he’s accosted from behind by Erica and Isaac as well. 

They don’t really say anything while they share comfort and reassurance. Stiles still seems at least mildly uncomfortable, and Derek knows that this kind of touchy-feely behavior isn’t normal for this particular group of teens. 

But he also knows that it’s completely normal for wolves, and he’s happy to see that the full moon is allowing them to give in to the instincts that Derek has felt his whole life. Not only will it allow Derek to act more naturally around them, but it will also help them all to thrive as a more cohesive pack. 

All too soon, the tender moment is interrupted by the deputy. “So… Peter is Peter Hale, right? Your uncle?” he asks. “I thought he was in a coma.”

“Oh, shit,” Scott blurts. “I didn’t even realize you were here.” He’s talking to Parrish, who gives him a flat look in response, and Derek can’t help but agree.

“You _just now_ realized that there was an outsider in our midst?!” Derek asks incredulously. “That’s pathetic, Scott. You’ve got to do better than that.”

“Is he a threat?” Scott asks. “Because he doesn’t really seem like a threat.”

“That’s not the point,” Derek insists. 

“Guys!” Stiles shouts to get their attention. “Please don’t fight, ok? We have enough to worry about without the two of you being at each other’s throats.” Silence follows, until Stiles sighs heavily and shakes his head. “We’ll all be ok for a few hours yet, right, Derek?” Derek nods uncertainly. “So why don’t we go upstairs and have some food, or something like that. My nerves are shot and I’m starving. We can worry about Peter later.” Then turning to Parrish, “And they can tell you all about the wonderful world of werewolves, ‘cause I think I’m gonna need a nap.” 

Derek considers calling Peter to question him about the mixed messages, but heartbeats can be difficult to hear over the phone. And besides, Derek suspects that his uncle might have figured out a way to lie convincingly without his heartbeat showing it, so he figures it wouldn’t do much good anyway. 

Stiles’s idea is a fair one… they can worry about Peter later. Derek only hopes that the reestablished alpha won’t give them something to worry about.


	17. Chapter 17

With a belly full of food, and a drowsy sort of warm contentment, Stiles drifts. 

After a meal that consisted of probably the best bowl of soup and sandwich he’s ever eaten (Derek may be an excellent chef, but Boyd is no slouch either apparently), Stiles languidly slides down the couch cushions until his head is resting in Derek’s lap.

The alpha’s strong fingers stroke meditatively over the short spikes of Stiles’s hair – sending pleasant shivers up and down his spine and making it practically impossible to keep his eyes open.

So he drifts. 

He tries not to think about the last several hours of his life as he listens to the others fill Parrish in on the most important things he needs to know about the supernatural. Derek is being somewhat uncooperative, but he’s forthcoming enough for Stiles to leave him to it. 

He doesn’t actually sleep, but he does zone out in comfortably sated bliss until the sun begins to set. But the sun’s descent brings with it a rise in a feeling of restlessness within Stiles. 

“I think I need to…” Stiles points towards the bathroom but doesn’t finish his thought. Instead, he steps carefully past the rest of the loungers and makes his way over. 

Once there though, he realizes that the restlessness he’s feeling is urging him to shift. He considers trying to ignore it, but ultimately figures why bother? It’s not like anyone at the loft hasn’t already seen him like that.

And besides, after being locked up in a cage for the better part of an afternoon, even his clothes are making him feel confined. So he makes sure that the door isn’t completely shut before stripping down and shifting completely. 

“Shit!” Stiles startles and flattens his body to the ground when Scott swears at the sight of him. “Sorry! Sorry, Stiles!” He kneels down in the bathroom’s doorway and hesitates with his hand outstretched. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this.”

Stiles gives him the wolfy equivalent of a bitch face, but then relaxes into Scott’s touch when he completes the distance and pets through Stiles’s soft fur. 

“I heard your heartbeat speed up so I thought I’d come check on you. Are you ok?”

Stiles nods reflexively and sits down on his haunches, waiting for Scott to drop the subject. 

No such luck.

“Are you sure?” he asks, ducking his head to be able to look Stiles in the eye. “Because you don’t smell ok.”

Stiles tries to roll his eyes, hoping that his opinion on continuing this line of questioning is clear without him having to say any actual words. 

“Ok, ok… you’re fine, I get it.” Scott’s fingers smooth over the fur covering his throat, and Stiles leans into it, scooting closer until he can poke his cold, wet nose in Scott’s neck.

The alpha squeaks, but doesn’t pull away. When Stiles sniffs, Scott mostly just smells like Scott – like the fresh cut grass of the lacrosse field and the sap of the evergreens in the preserve. But also like the fruity tea that his mom like to drink, and the coconut body wash that he likes to use. Stiles would recognize these scents as Scott anytime. 

But now, with his enhanced senses, there’s even more. 

Overpowering everything else is the potent scent of _Alpha_. It’s strong, and insistent, and seems to ping a certain part of Stiles’s brain like a melodious set of heavenly wind chimes.

In other words, it’s nice. _Very_ nice.

It draws Stiles instinctively closer until Scott’s arms are wrapped around him, hugging Stiles to his body. 

“Seriously, Stiles, you smell really weird.”

Stiles licks Scott’s neck and the alpha squawks and falls on his ass. He does it mostly in retaliation for the slight, but also because Scott smells a lot like Isaac. And he’s not exactly sure why, but it sort of bothers Stiles for some reason that eludes him right now. 

Using Scott’s backwards momentum to his advantage, Stiles puts all of his not insubstantial weight on the alpha until Stiles is bearing him down to the ground. He growls when Scott tries to weakly push up, but that only seems to spur the alpha on, because before his can blink, Scott shifts, and then Stiles is the one on the ground. Scott growls louder, and Stiles can feel hot breath and the teasing tips of fangs at his throat. 

It’s all in good fun – Stiles thinks. But then in the next moment Scott is ripped from his back and thrown halfway across the room, and it’s Derek standing growling over him instead. 

“Ow!” Scott exclaims, clutching his arm and shifting back. “What the hell, Derek?” 

Erica snorts a laugh. “Even I could have told you not to give Stiles a hard time on the full moon, Scott. You really are terrible at being a wolf, aren’t you?” 

Scott doesn’t answer. Instead it’s Isaac who picks up a decorative pillow and chucks it at her head. 

Of course, that makes Boyd drop fang and roar in Isaac’s face. “See?” Erica says. “You don’t fuck with someone’s mate on the full moon, Scott. That’s like, werewolf 101.” 

Even as she says it, Scott jumps to his feet and insinuates himself between Boyd and Isaac – not shifting, but making his point clear nonetheless. 

But Stiles doesn’t want them to fight, so he trots over and squeezes in between Scott and Boyd, rubbing his sides up against their legs on his way. 

The action serves its purpose – tearing the wolves’ attention away from each other and onto Stiles instead. But there’s still tension in the air, and luckily, Derek seems to know how to quit while they’re ahead.

“I think it’s time that you all head downstairs,” Derek says. Then turning to address Parrish, “You can go with them if you want, but you know the risks.”

“I would, but I have the overnight shift today.” He hesitates then, looking between Derek and Stiles. “I can drop Stiles off at home on my way,” he offers. “Since I’m assuming that we’re keeping this whole situation under wraps and neither of you want to file a police report…” 

“No,” Derek says definitively. “But for now at least, Stiles is staying here with me.” Stiles leaps up onto Derek’s bed and gets comfortable. Being around the pack is nice, but Derek is on to something, Stiles thinks. Some one-on-one time with his Alpha sounds perfect right about now. 

“The sheriff isn’t on duty tonight, Derek,” Parrish informs him. “He’s going to notice if Stiles doesn’t come home.

Derek herds everyone towards the door and says, “Let me worry about the sheriff,” in an extremely condescending manner. And it’s obvious that the deputy is bursting to argue the matter, but equally cautioning looks from all sides seems to make him think better of that course of action, because he clenches his fists and simply nods instead – allowing himself to be shunted along. 

He’s the last one to reach the door though – besides Derek, of course – and he turns and gets up in the alpha’s face. “If you hurt him,” he begins, voice clipped and harsh. But he doesn’t get to finish the threat because Scott doubles back and places a restraining hand on his arm.

“Get in line, buddy,” the alpha says. “Because if Derek hurts Stiles, he’ll have _me_ to answer to… and then the rest of the pack… and _then_ the sherifff. So believe me, there won’t be much left for you to damage, but you’ll be welcome to try.” 

The menacing looks from Stiles’s packmates very obviously unsettle the deputy, but honestly it’s one of the most heartwarming things that Stiles has ever seen. Threats of grievous bodily harm never made him feel so loved. 

Stiles barks out an enthusiastic thank you and wags his tail to show his appreciation. 

And then the door is clanging shut behind them, and Derek flips the main light switch before striding quickly and surely toward the bed, ripping his shirt up over his head, and going for the fastenings of his jeans. 

“Shift,” he orders through a hint of fang, red eyes glowing. 

Stiles doesn’t even think. He simply obeys Derek’s command and slips back into his skin in the time it takes Derek to strip down completely and launch himself forward. 

He lands on top of Stiles and starts kissing him frantically – hands wandering in a restless way over Stiles’s skin like he just can’t get enough. 

The feeling is electric. Stiles pants and moans and doesn’t even spare a passing thought to anything other than _Derek_ and _Alpha_ and _matematematematemate_. 

His mind has one track right now, is what he’s saying.

“Derek!” Stiles exclaims. “Derek! Derek! Oh my God, _Derek!_ ” He writhes under the onslaught of sensation as Derek bites and licks his way down Stiles’s chest. And when he’s abruptly flipped over and Derek glides his hands up Stiles’s thighs to grope his ass and skillfully tongue his hole, Stiles moans like the most believable whore and then hides his face in the sheets, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Don’t you dare,” Derek’s voice rasps into Stiles’s ear. His hand comes up and cups the back of Stiles’s head, turning it to the side so that Derek can kiss him again. “I want to hear you.” 

Stiles’s scalp tingles, and he really, really wishes that his hair wasn’t so short. He longs to feel Derek’s fingers tug and pull on it – even the thought makes him whine. 

A satisfied rumble is Derek’s response, and it makes goosebumps shiver pleasantly over Stiles’s skin while Derek continues to skim his hands over every inch of Stiles that he can reach. Soon his mouth gets in on the action and Stiles feels the wet slide of Derek’s tongue following the path that his hands have just made. 

Derek’s lips eventually end up biting sucking kisses onto his jaw and throat, and the alpha growls in satisfaction when Stiles cants his hips up further, accentuating the curve of his arched back. 

The feel of two thick fingers calms the squirmy feeling inside, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

“Come on, Derek… No teasing this time.” Stiles is feeling extremely worked up and impatient – even more so than usual. It must be the full moon, he thinks. But if this is the worst of his reaction, he considers himself lucky. 

He’d take extra horniness over murderous rage any day.

“No more teasing,” Derek says, and in the next moment he’s pushing inside, all the way to the hilt, and it’s _perfect_.

“Yes, God, Derek, that’s so good…” They both start moving immediately – Stiles giving as good as he gets. And it is good… _so_ good. 

But there’s something missing. 

A moment later, Derek snakes an arm around his chest and pulls Stiles and himself up into a kneeling position. Derek holds him there – Stiles’s legs splayed obscenely wide while the alpha continues to snap his hips forward. 

And then Derek nudges Stiles’s face to the side until they’re kissing, which Stiles quickly realizes is exactly what had been missing before. 

Taking a break for air, Stiles tips his head back and to the side – exposing his throat in a bid for Derek’s attention, which works, of course. Derek’s kind of drooling all over his neck. It would be disgusting in any other context, but seen through this particular wolfy lens, it’s excruciatingly hot.

“Wanna bite you,” Derek says, still holding Stiles tightly against him with one arm, while the other roams leisurely down his belly and lands on his cock.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks. It’s not like he doesn’t already know this, but it sure is a heady feeling to keep hearing it. 

“Yeah… You’re mine.” Derek’s knot is starting to grow – pressing up against Stiles’s prostate with deadly accuracy. “Wanna claim you.”

Stiles groans, feeling his cock twitch and his hole leak more slick. He wants it, he realizes. Wants to be with someone who’s going to understand him and accept him for exactly who he is – smart mouth, hyperactivity, and all. And until recently, he never thought that person would be Derek.

But now when he tries to imagine it being anyone else, it hurts. 

When Stiles imagines his future, he can’t _not_ imagine Derek in it – Just as much as he can’t imagine Scott not in it, or his Dad. Derek has become one of the three most important people in his life so quickly, that thinking about it sort of makes Stiles’s head spin. 

But Stiles is the type of person that as a child, used to spin around in circles just to delight in the feeling of dizziness that came with it, so the feeling is thrilling, instead of scary. He’s always been a risk-taker; always been a trail blazer. Such a great loss at such a young age has taught him that things he could have done, but didn’t, end up being much bigger regrets than things he did do that he later wishes he hadn’t. 

And besides, the new bit of information that he’d learned from the missing pages of the Hale Bestiary makes the prospect much less daunting than it had been a few days ago. 

“Do it,” he says finally. “Derek, do it.” Derek stills, arm tightening around his chest. 

“What?” 

“Do it. Bite me. Claim me. I want you to.” 

Derek whimpers and buries his face in the nape of Stiles’s neck, shuddering. He sounds devastated, but he smells overjoyed, and Stiles smiles to himself. He has always suspected that the big bad alpha had a secret gooey core hidden down deep inside. And having his suspicions confirmed is even more satisfying than he thought it would be.

But now that he knows, he’s been trying to be more cognizant of how he treats the man. He’s been hurt so badly before, that Stiles knows he requires special care to avoid future damage, regardless of how big of a front he puts on most of the time. 

“Hey, hey… It’s ok, Derek. We’re ok.” Derek glides his nose over Stiles’s skin, ending up in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He sniffs quietly and licks, sending shivers up and down Stiles’s spine.

The tender ministrations continue while Derek starts moving his hips and his hand again, but it doesn’t last. After a time, when their heartbeats rise and their breathing becomes more erratic, Derek’s movements get rougher, more controlling. 

He starts up a rumbling growl and moves the hand on Stiles’s cock up to cup his throat. He doesn’t squeeze – he’s careful not to restrict Stiles’s blood flow or breathing. But he does use his grip to pull Stiles’s head to the size, exposing Derek’s goal more completely.

“You’re sure?” he asks, knot locking in place and fang tips teasing skin. “You want this?”

“Yeah. Yes. I want this. I’m sure.” Stiles has one hand in Derek’s hair, the other gripping tightly to his arm And he knows that his claws are out, but he can’t stop. His own fangs have dropped, eyes glowing brightly. They probably make quite the sight. 

And then comes the bite. 

The pain is intense, but very fleeting. The completion of the bond that’s been growing between them overwhelms everything else, and it’s not until he comes to – lying on his side, dick twitching and ass clenching – that he realizes that he must have lost consciousness for at least a few moments. 

Derek’s chest is heaving behind him, his mouth still attached to Stiles’s throat. But his fangs are retracted and Derek is simply covering the wound – his wet tongue a balm to the soreness. 

“So…” Stiles begins weakly. “That happened.” 

Derek removes his mouth and chuckles, then begins to caress any part of Stiles that he can reach while pressing tender kisses into his shoulders. “I love you,” he breathes, arm hugging Stiles tightly. “I always will.”

Stiles hugs back and sighs. “That’s good, Babe. ‘Cause I love you too. And I’d hate to have to go through the hassle of returning the ‘his and his’ bath towels that I ordered.”

Derek pinches his side and playfully nibbles on his shoulder. 

“Hey! I don’t want to be out the cost of shipping! Do _you_ want to be out the cost of shipping?” The playful attack continues until they’re both laughing and gasping for air. And again, it’s something that Stiles would have never expected from Derek, but that he’s so fucking happy to get to witness first-hand. 

Derek’s knot slips free and Stiles rolls over to lie on Derek’s chest – the better to gaze into those mesmerizing green eyes and kiss that perfect face. 

A few minutes later his phone chimes with a text message, so he looks at the clock and notices that it’s getting pretty late. It’s probably his dad wanting to know where he is, and he knows that he shouldn’t linger much longer.

“I think I should go home,” he says sadly. 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks, looking concerned. 

“I feel great!” Derek looks skeptical, and Stiles understands why. It’s his first full moon – he should be leaping out of windows and running around growling at people. But he actually feels fine. “Really, I think you were right about having more control over the shift. I feel totally fine, especially now that we’re bonded.” 

Derek cups his cheek and runs his thumb tenderly over Stiles lips and jaw. “I’ll stay at your house with you tonight,” he promises. And while Stiles would like that very much, he knows they can’t take the risk.

“You can’t,” he says. “My dad is going to be hyper vigilant tonight because, surprise, surprise… he _did_ see us this morning and he’s really pissed about it.” Derek looks unimpressed. “And besides, Erica and Boyd may need you here.”

Derek doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t force the issue either, surprisingly. He simply kisses Stiles deeply before getting up to retrieve a wet washcloth and then get dressed. 

They tell Scott where they’re going, and leave. His dad isn’t home yet. Perhaps he’s out with Melissa. And it’s not until half an hour later – after Derek’s already left and Stiles is preparing to get comfortable, that he remembers the text notification he had heard while still at the loft.

He grabs his phone, sort of hoping that his dad might be planning on not coming home tonight so that he can call Derek and have him come back over. That would be perfect. 

Only, it’s not a text from his dad after all. And Stiles feels his heart drop into his stomach when he sees that it’s from Peter, and it’s worse than Stiles had expected. 

**Papa Stilinski’s with me, Little Wolf. Come to the Glade alone. We have some family planning to do.**

_No…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! Another cliff hanger! Just what you wanted, right? No? 
> 
> Anyway... I know the missing bestiary pages are mentioned here but not elaborated on. Don't worry, you didn't miss it. It's coming up in the next chapter. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading and commenting and everything else. I hope you're enjoying the story and I Love you bunches! <3


	18. Chapter 18

_No…_

No, no, no, no, no. 

This can’t be happening. This can NOT be happening. 

Stiles is panicking, he knows this. But it doesn’t help him at all with making it stop. He can feel his eyes glowing, and his claws and fangs are threatening to show themselves. In fact, his whole body is threatening to shift – he can feel it.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the fact that Peter, mother-fucking zombiewolf Hale has his father. 

So he pauses only long enough to jam his shoes onto his feet before he practically launches himself out of the window. He lands on the roof, jumps off onto the ground, and barely even stumbles before he starts running. 

He realizes that he hasn’t even brought his phone with him, but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is getting to his dad before it’s too late. 

_It’s already too late,_ his panicked brain reminds him. Peter has probably told the sheriff everything. And even if he makes it out of this alive, there’s no going back. God, Stiles hopes his dad makes it out of this alive. He can’t even contemplate the alternative.

Stiles is running as fast as he can – not giving any heed to the noise he’s making, or the cuts and scrapes he’s picking up along the way. He doesn’t even realize that someone is following him until they’re practically on top of him, grasping him by the shoulder and calling his name.

“Stiles!” Stiles turns, snarling. And then upon seeing that it’s Derek, he collapses into his arms and lets out a few helpless sobs. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“He’s got my dad, Derek!” Stiles straightens up again, turns, and resumes running. But Derek is right there with him.

“Who? Stiles, who has your dad?” Stiles stops again and turns to look at Derek.

“Peter.” And Stiles has no trouble reading the thoughts that are going through Derek’s head, because they’re written all over his face. Whatever happens tonight, there’s no way that it ends well.

“Where?” Derek asks. 

“The Glade.” Derek looks grim, but nods and starts walking quickly again. After a few steps, Stiles stops him.

“Derek, no. You can’t come.”

“Why the hell not?” He sounds angry, and Stiles is sure that he is. But he can tell that Derek is also hurt and disappointed in his uncle’s actions once more.

“Because I’m getting my dad back if it’s the last thing I do. I mean it. And I told you before – I’m not going to ask you to kill your uncle. He’s the only family you have left.”

Derek takes a deep breath – obviously upset by the whole situation – and Stiles wonders if this will be the thing that breaks them. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to bear it, but if it comes down to Peter or his dad, he won’t even hesitate. 

But Stiles should have known better than that. “He’s not,” Derek says, stepping close and cupping Stiles’s cheek. “He’s not the only family that I have left.” And _oh._ Derek means him. 

It’s reassuring, and gives Stiles the kick in the ass that he needs to get moving again. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him along. “And not that I’m not happy to have you here, Derek, but why _are_ you here? I told you to go home.” 

Derek scoffs. “Right. Like I was going to leave you alone on your first full moon.” 

Stiles makes a mental note to have another conversation about creeperwolves. But it will have to wait. They’re coming up on the Glade pretty quickly, and they both need to focus. 

There is one thing that they do need to talk about first though. “Derek, wait.” Stiles pulls him to a stop. “You have to promise me one thing. And I mean it this time. I need your word.”

“What is it?”

“No matter what happens, we do things _my_ way this time.” Stiles sees him trying to come up with a clever way to agree without it being an outright lie. Eventually Derek nods and starts to move again. But that’s not going to cut it… not this time.

“No, Derek, I mean it. You’re my alpha, and I love you. But this is my dad, and you need to promise me. Tell me that you’ll do as I say, no matter what it is.” Derek hesitates. “Say it, Derek. I need to hear you say it.”

Again, Derek hesitates. But eventually he relents. “Alright. I promise. I’ll follow your lead.” 

Stiles breathes the smallest sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says, pulling Derek in for a very brief kiss that he puts everything he’s feeling into. It’s passionate, and desperate, and Stiles tries not to think that it may be the last one they’ll ever share before he steps back. “You stay here for now. I’ll go in alone and distract him, and you can wait and surprise him, ok?”

He’s not happy about it, but Derek agrees. He asks if Stiles thinks they should shift, but Stiles worries that the advantage they’d gain in strength won’t be worth it if his Dad dies of a heart attack. So they stay in their skins, and Stiles completes the final distance before stepping into the Glade where the full moon shines its brightness down on the scene before him.

It’s both better and worse than Stiles expected. It’s better, because Peter appears to be alone – besides his father, of course. But it’s worse because it’s obvious that the sheriff put up a fight. One of his eyes is swollen almost shut, and there’s blood dripping from a wound on his head. But he’s conscious at least, and for that, Stiles is relieved. He’s alive, and that’s the most important thing.

“Stiles!” he shouts from where he’s kneeling on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back. “Get out of here! Run! He’s not human! He’s—”

Peter grasps the sheriff by his hair and yanks his head back to get him to stop talking. “Now, now, Sheriff,” he says, letting go once more and smoothing his hair back down. “We’ve talked about this. Stiles already knows all about what I am. Don’t you, Little Wolf?”

It takes everything Stiles has not to shift right then and there. But he knows he can’t – not with his dad’s safety on the line. “Let him go, Peter. He has nothing to do with this. It’s me you want, right? Well I’m right here.” Stiles steps forward and throws his arms open wide.

“Well, you’re partially right,” Peter responds. “It is you I want. That much is true. But daddy dearest here is part of this too.”

“How?!” Stiles shouts, stalling for time.

Peter smiles and lays a clawed hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “Well, I like it here, Stiles. This is my family’s ancestral land. And if we’re going to stay here, it would be helpful to have the town’s sheriff on our side, wouldn’t it?” Stiles’s dad tries to lunge away from Peter’s hand, but the alpha just clamps down harder. “And besides, I know my mate won’t be happy without his father around.”

Stiles would laugh at the thought if he wasn’t so scared for his father’s life. “So this is your big plan? You think threatening his life will make me want to be your mate?” 

“Hey, whatever works,” Peter says, shrugging. Stiles knows that what Peter really wants is the power-up that he’d get with a sparkwolf as his mate – the one that Derek is now in possession of. 

And speaking of Derek… Stiles inches closer in anticipation of his imminent arrival. But before he gets more than a foot, the sound of a gunshot rings out from somewhere nearby – causing Stiles and his father to turn their heads to look for its source.

Of course Peter just smiles, looking completely unsurprised. And then there’s a crashing noise as three more figures enter the clearing. 

“Derek!” Stiles begins to move toward his mate, who’s bleeding from the shoulder and being pulled along by a set of twin figures that Stiles thought they’d seen the last of. And that may be the sheriff’s gun that Aiden is holding, but the unmistakable smell of wolfsbane tells him that the bullets are not. “Peter, you son of a –”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Peter says, drawing Stiles’s attention to where he now has the sheriff held by the throat with his claws dangerously close to his jugular. “We were having such a nice conversation, darling. I wouldn’t want to have to _cut_ it short.” Then he turns to the twins. “Was Derek alone?” he asks. They nod in the affirmative and Peter smiles again. 

Stiles’s body is absolutely thrumming with the urge to shift. And even though he’s managing to mostly hold it back, he can feel his eyes glowing and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Even the wide-eyed fear in his father’s eyes doesn’t make a difference. 

He should have known that Peter would have something up his sleeve. Or several somethings, in this case. God! He was so stupid to have ever thought anything different. 

“Alright!” Stiles shouts. “You win. Just let them go and I’ll do whatever you want.” 

The sheriff yells, “No!” but Stiles can’t heed him. If he has to sacrifice himself to save the ones he loves, he’ll do it. He has to. 

Peter tells Ethan to come get the sheriff, which he does. His dad struggles the whole way, trying to break free. But it’s a lost cause – the alpha is just too strong for him. “Stiles!” the Sheriff shouts. “Just go! Please! Don’t do what he wants! Just run!” 

Stiles scrunches his eyes shut and tries not to cry. Then he opens them back up and pleads, “It’s ok, Dad. Just do what they say. _Please._ ” 

He starts walking toward Peter when his dad starts shouting again. “Hale, you bastard! Don’t you touch him! I’ll kill you, I swear to God!” 

Stiles passes Aiden and Derek, who’s swaying on his feet and obviously trying to keep it together. He wishes that he could go to him – hug him and kiss him and tell him it will be alright. It won’t be, he knows it, but the urge to comfort his alpha is so strong. 

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, Sheriff,” Peter says calmly. “Now come on, Little Wolf. Our future awaits.” He points to the ground in front of him, and Stiles understands. He kneels in the place his father had just vacated, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

He shudders when the alpha lays one gentle hand on his shoulder and uses the other to tip his head to the side. Then he pauses and tightens his grip when he sees the already healed up scar of Derek’s mating bite. 

“You’re too late,” Derek says, voice weak. “He’s mine. You can’t have him.” His eyes are flashing red intermittently – reminding Stiles of when Kate had shot him before. But he’s wrong, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Is that right, Stiles?” Peter asks, sounding completely unconcerned. “Am I too late?” He rubs his thumb over the scar and Stiles shivers. 

“The bestiary…” Stiles says, voice breaking. “The missing pages… Derek, it said—”

“That mating bites aren’t permanent,” Peter supplies. “Not for sparkwolves. Not necessarily.” He pushes Stiles’s head even further to the side and leans down to run his nose up Stiles’s throat. “Isn’t that right, Little Wolf?”

Derek struggles and growls, but Aiden shoots him again – in the calf this time – causing Derek to fall to his knees and snarl. 

“Stop!” Stiles sobs. “Peter, make him stop! You have what you want, just make him stop!”

Peter nods and Aiden pushes Derek to the ground. Then he stands over Derek, pointing the gun at his head. “You know, you really brought this upon yourself, Stiles,” Peter tells him. “If you had just chosen me from the start, this all could have been avoided.” Stiles sees the fear and the pain in Derek’s eyes when he looks up. “Oh well.” 

And then Stiles feels Peter’s grip tighten even more before the sharp tips of his fangs sink into his throat.

Stiles snarls, half-shifted, and then there’s a blast of light as everyone in the clearing is blown back several feet – everyone that is, except Stiles, who comes to on his hands and knees in the middle of the clearing. He’s breathing hard, and he feels different. But his connection to Derek is still in-tact. And he has no trouble jumping to his feet and spinning on his heels to face Peter.

But the alpha is lying motionless on the ground – not dead, but not a threat anymore either, at least not at the moment. So he turns again and starts running toward Aiden. The alpha is already on his feet and racing away – without the gun, Stiles is happy to see. He starts chasing after him, but then he suddenly remembers that Derek will quickly die of wolfsbane poisoning if he doesn’t stop it, so he spins back around and skids to a stop on the ground next to him. 

“Lighter! Derek, do you have a lighter?” 

“Pocket…” Derek groans. “What happened? What was that?”

Stiles has no idea what that was, and says so. But if he had to guess, he thinks that his Spark just might be showing itself finally. He looks over to make sure his dad is ok. He’s struggling to his feet, but Ethan is gone as well, so he doesn’t worry about him quite yet. 

“Watch over Peter,” he commands once the sheriff is standing. His hands are free – the cuffs hanging from one wrist. He’s obviously shaken, but he does as he’s bid, and Stiles reaches a trembling hand for the gun, and then proceeds to remove the bullets.

He grabs two from the ground and breaks them open with his teeth like he’d seen Derek do. Then he taps the wolfsbane out onto a nearby rock. After helping Derek expose the bullet holes, he lights the wolfsbane on fire and quickly jams the burned herbs into the wounds. 

Derek screams and writhes on the ground, which attracts the sheriff’s attention. But it doesn’t last, and before long, Derek is back up on his knees and lunging for Stiles – shoving his nose in Stiles’s throat to scent that he’s alright and still _his_ , and Stiles absolutely knows the feeling.

The alpha whimpers and collapses into Stiles arms “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Stiles.” Then he abruptly rises, bringing Stiles up to his feet with him. “I’ll find them. I promise. They’ll never hurt you again.” 

He starts to turn, obviously ready to run after the twins. But Stiles doesn’t care about them. The people he cares about are in this clearing right now. “No! Derek, let them go. We’ll deal with them later.” 

Derek nods, and then springs his claws before stalking toward Peter where he’s starting to stir on the ground. The sheriff steps back as he gets close, and Stiles goes to join them. And it’s not that Stiles wants to stop him, exactly, but there’s something wrong… something different.

“Derek, wait.” The alpha turns, looking questioningly. “Smell him,” Stiles says. “I think he’s…”

“Human.” Derek kneels down and gets a closer sniff. “He smells human.” He sounds wonderingly – like he can hardly believe what he’s saying. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “That’s what I thought.” Peter groans and starts to sit up, and the sheriff reaches down and punches him in the face, causing Derek to sort of jump out of the way and get to his feet.

“I’m just getting started, buddy,” the sheriff says to the former wolf, who’s clutching his bleeding nose. But before he can pound on him some more, Stiles catches his arm and holds him back. 

“Dad!” He wrenches his arm out of Stiles’s hold and walks a few feet away. And Stiles can see the delayed freak out starting to begin. 

“Stiles! You…!” He cuts himself off, probably not even sure what he was going to say, and shakes his head, taking deep breaths. “What the _hell_ is going on?! You were…” He turns abruptly and points a threatening finger in Derek’s face. “And _you_ …!”

“Dad, stop!” He gets himself between Derek and his dad to hold him back. “I’ll explain everything, but not here.”

“You bet your ass, you will,” he responds. Stiles sees his hands starting to shake, and his heart is starting to beat erratically, and he can tell that shock is starting to finally set in. Honestly, he’s surprised that his dad has kept it together for this long. 

And Stiles knows that this is all his fault – that his dad wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for him. And that’s more than he can handle himself. So he steps forward and clings to him like he used to when he was a small child. But trying to stop himself from crying just makes the tears come faster and harder. “I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats, over and over again.

Surprisingly though, Stiles’s breakdown seems to help his dad to calm himself. He hugs Stiles close and consoles him while simultaneously giving Derek orders on how to deal with Peter – which the alpha also surprisingly follows without question or complaint – and before Stiles knows it, the four of them are on their way out of the Glade and making the journey back to the Stilinski house. 

Stiles doesn’t know what will happen the next day, or even the next hour, but he knows that he can’t but help feel relieved. His dad is safe, his alpha is safe, and even if he still feels a subtle sense of dread, he’ll take it and be happy that everything is turning out better than thought it ever could.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a veritable roller coaster of emotion, and just about everyone needs a hug... especially Papa Stilinski.

The walk home is eerily silent, which only increases Stiles’s anxiety. But Derek must have texted Scott when Stiles wasn’t looking, because when they get there, Scott and Melissa are waiting inside with a fresh pot of coffee and a first-aid kit – and that actually does make him feel a little better.  
His dad shoves a handcuffed and bleeding Peter down on the living room sofa, and then makes a bee-line for Melissa, hugging her tightly and giving her a quick kiss. 

It’s sort of a shock for Stiles to see – but he doesn’t dwell on it because then Derek is there, doing the same to him. 

Unfortunately, they barely get a chance to scent each other before Stiles’s dad pulls Derek away and pins him up against the wall with a large hand in the center of his chest. 

Derek lets him do it, and doesn’t even flinch when the sheriff pulls his gun from his holster and points it at Derek’s heart. 

“I should shoot you,” he says, voice cold in a way that Stiles has never heard before. 

It makes Stiles almost afraid to say anything – not sure what his dad will do. But Derek is just standing there doing the strong, silent, alpha-posturing bullshit, so Stiles has to say something. 

“Dad, please… put the gun away,” he pleads. “Derek isn’t the problem here.” The sheriff scoffs, but otherwise ignores him.

“Peter told me a lot of things tonight, Derek,” he says. “Werewolves, kanimas, a goddamned resurrection story! And _you_ … going around turning teenagers into wolves for your own selfish gain.” He cocks his gun and shoves it even more harshly into Derek’s chest. “So give me even _one_ good reason why I shouldn’t pull this trigger.” 

Derek closes his eyes, and Stiles swears that he can sense resignation, as well as shame and guilt coming from the alpha. And because of that, Stiles suddenly realizes that Derek would risk actually dying rather than physically fight back against his father.

So Stiles fights for him.

“Me, ok?” Stiles gets as close to getting between them as he can. “I’m the reason.”

“ _He_ did this to you!” the sheriff says vehemently. 

“No,” Stiles disagrees, shaking his head. “Someone else did this to me.” He would elaborate more on the subject, but he wants to avoid explaining Scott’s involvement in his situation if at all possible.

“Stiles, even if I were to believe that,” his dad says, sounding tired. “It doesn’t really matter. You were changed from the moment you met him.”

“You’re right, alright? I _am_ changed. But I’m changed for the better,” Stiles assures him. “I’m stronger… inside and out. Now I can protect you and every other person that I love.” Stiles reaches out a hand and places it gently on his father’s shoulder. “And Derek is one of those people, Dad. So please, _please_ put the gun away.”

The sheriff’s expression softens and he uncocks his gun before lowering it and taking a step back.

All the fight seems to drain out of him for the moment when he re-holsters his weapon and wraps Stiles up in a big bear-hug. “I thought I was going to lose you too,” he says, voice cracking with emotion.

“Never,” Stiles replies. “I’ll never let that happen.” Stiles sniffs, trying not to cry. He’s not very successful – at least not until Peter groans theatrically from the sofa, causing all heads to turn in his direction. 

“Ugh,” he says, sounding fed up and somewhat disgusted. “Just kill me already. I’d rather die than spend one more second being a spectator in someone else’s second-rate melodrama.”

The sheriff breaks away and stalks up to him, towering over the former wolf. “You want to die? Because that can be arranged… easily.”

He goes for his gun again, but this time it’s Melissa who stays his hand. “Noah, stop. Let the boys handle him.” She leads him away from the sofa. “Come over here and let me look at that head wound. I think it might need stitches.”

He backs down, but says, “No. Check on Stiles first. That bastard bit him on the neck.”

She hesitates, and it’s clear that Scott must have filled her in on at least part of what’s been happening lately, because she bites her lip nervously and looks to Stiles for how she should proceed. 

“It’s fine, Dad,” Stiles says. “It’s already healed.” 

His dad looks skeptical, and Stiles understands why. Besides the fact that werewolf physiology is new to him, the shoulder of Stiles’s shirt is totally covered in blood. Either way, his dad looks like he needs reassuring.

So Stiles approaches him and lengthens one claw, uses it to slice a shallow cut into his own forearm, and holds it up for his dad to watch it heal right before his eyes. “See,” he says, wiping the small welling of blood off on his already ruined shirt. “It’s one of the perks.” 

“Jesus, Stiles, are you really…”

“A creature of the night?” 

The look on his father’s face tells Stiles that that probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

“Do you think this is funny?” the sheriff asks, dead serious.

But really… “I have to, dad. Because if it isn’t funny, then it’s tragic. And I’ve had just about all the tragedy I can handle for one day, ok?”

Tears start to well up in Stiles’s eyes, but he quickly blinks them away when he senses his mate stepping up silently behind him, and a familiar hand squeezing gently at the nape of his neck. His breath leaves him with an audible _whoosh_ , and a fair amount of tension drains away as well – an unusual sense of calm taking its place.

“Noah, please…” Melissa whispers, taking the sheriff by the hand. “I really need to look at that wound.”

He lets himself be led to a nearby chair, and Stiles heaves a sigh of relief and relaxes back even further into Derek’s hold. A firm grip around his waist and a fervent kiss to his temple makes him feel safe. Then Scott walks up to them and asks, “So what _are_ we going to do with him?” while nodding his head in Peter’s direction.

Derek doesn’t respond right away, and it’s obvious that whatever plans he may have had for his uncle have changed now that the circumstances aren’t at all what he had expected.

So Scott makes a suggestion. “Sheriff Stilinski could arrest him,” he says. 

The idea is appealing. Stiles’s dad has the physical evidence to justify an arrest for assaulting a police officer at least, but… “I don’t think that’s the best option,” Stiles interjects. “He seems to be a regular human now, but what if it’s temporary? We don’t want to let him get lost in the system when we aren’t even really sure what happened, do we?”

“No,” Derek responds. “We don’t.”

“What about Deaton?” Scott asks. “Maybe he’d know something.”

“The vet?!” All three heads turn to look at Stiles’s dad where he’s sitting down and being tended to by Melissa. “I knew that man was hiding something.”

“I don’t trust him,” Derek says, referring to Deaton. 

“Well, that’s something that we can both agree on,” the sheriff says, before flinching and hissing in pain at whatever Melissa is doing to his head. 

“Sorry! Sorry, Noah. I know it hurts.” Stiles can scent her anxiety caused by his father’s pain. And he wants to go over and help, but he’s not sure how.

Surprisingly though, Derek beats him to it. He strides over and kneels down next to him, and then reaches up to place a tentative hand on the side of the sheriff’s head. He flinches again at first – obviously wary and unsure of what the alpha will do, but his eyes soon flutter closed in relief as Derek begins to draw the pain away. 

Stiles’s heart clenches and he smiles as pride for his kind-hearted mate swells in his chest. This day has been fucked in so many ways, but at least he still has this… his family is safe (at least for now), and Stiles feels himself relaxing somewhat as the palpable tension in the room decreases. 

“How did you do that?” the sheriff asks quietly. 

Derek responds with a small smile – glancing at Stiles when he says, “It’s one of the perks,” before getting up and returning to him to rub soothing circles into the small of his back. 

The tender touch helps to clear his head, and then Stiles remembers… “Jordan!” All heads turn again – in his direction this time. “Jordan is on duty tonight. He can put Peter in a holding cell, just for the night, and then we can bring him back to the loft and keep him in the wolf-proof basement until we can think of something more permanent.”

“Deputy Parrish?” the sheriff asks. “Does he know about all this too?” Stiles gives him a guilty nod and shrugs. “Am I the _only_ person in this entire town who _doesn’t_ know about it?!”

“To be fair,” Stiles begins. “Jordan only learned about it today. So you shouldn’t feel too bad about that. And anyway, him finding out was just as unintentional as you finding out, so—”

“So you were never planning on telling me?” his dad asks, finishing Stiles’s sentence and sounding hurt.

“I wouldn’t say _never_ ,” Stiles equivocates. “But I will admit that I was trying to put it off as long as possible.” Again, the hurt is evident on his dad’s face, even if he couldn’t smell it in his scent. “I was trying to keep you safe,” Stiles admits. “You have enough to deal with as it is, Dad. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protection is _my_ job, Stiles. And I can’t do my job effectively if I have no idea what’s going on.” Then turning his attention on Derek… “And I suppose you encouraged him to keep me in the dark?” he asks, tone biting. 

Derek just shrugs, and Stiles has had about enough of his self-sacrificing bullshit. “No, actually,” Stiles says. “Derek has been trying to get me to tell you for a while now.” The need to defend Derek is strong – even if his mate refuses to defend himself.

Stiles’s words seem to garner a grudging respect, but even so, his dad chooses to move the conversation in a different direction. “Is it irreversible?” he asks Stiles. “For you, I mean… Is there anything we can do to change you back?”

Stiles’s heart sinks at the question. “Is that what you want?” he asks, gaze directed at the ground. He can scent the complex set of emotions coming from his father, but he can’t bear to see them on his face.

“I want you to be happy… and safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, son.”

The familiar words are a balm on the open wound of Stiles’s soul. Again, he feels like crying. And he even feels a couple of hot tears make their way down his cheeks. But they’re tears of happiness this time. Bittersweet, yes… but happy nonetheless. 

“I am happy, Dad.” Stiles wipes the tears away and squares his shoulders. “And even if I could change back… I wouldn’t want to. I may not have chosen this to begin with, but I’m choosing it now.” Derek’s posture relaxes next to him, and Stiles regrets not making this clear sooner. 

Then a knock at the door startles everyone back to high alert, until Scott heads towards the door saying, “It’s just Parrish. I texted him a few minutes ago. He must have been close.”

The deputy comes in, has a brief conversation with the sheriff and Derek, and then leaves again with Peter in tow. It’s a huge relief to have the elder Hale removed from their presence – even if he had been mostly quiet since arriving at the Stilinski house. 

Scott leaves as well – saying that now that the immediate danger has passed, he wants to return to the loft to help Isaac make sure that Boyd and Erica make it through the rest of the full moon ok. And that as soon as that happens, he’ll help Deputy Parrish transport Peter back to the loft. “And I’ll try to get a hold of Deaton and see what he knows,” Scott tells them as he’s walking out the door.

Melissa heads to the kitchen to fix the sheriff a cup of coffee. But Stiles suspects it’s mostly to give him some time alone with Stiles and Derek while still being on-hand for moral support if needed. 

And then it’s just the three of them.

Stiles and Derek are both quiet – waiting for the sheriff to speak first. But when he finally does, what he says shocks both of them.

“Can you change me too?”

A twin chorus of “What?!” sounds from both wolves – Derek’s sounding confused, while Stiles just sounds incredulous. 

“I won’t lose you over this, Stiles. And if becoming a werewolf is what it takes to keep you in my life, I’ll do it. Whatever the cost. So I’ll ask again… Can you change me too?”

“Dad! No! You _don’t_ have to do that!” Stiles can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Luckily though, Derek is more level-headed. “No,” he says. “I won’t do it.”

“Won’t? Or can’t?” the sheriff asks.

“Both,” Derek responds evenly. “There’s a good chance the Bite would kill you, so I refuse to even try.” Stiles swears that his father is going to give him a heart attack one of these days – werewolf physiology or not. 

“So where does this leave us?” his dad asks, sounding afraid and unsure.

“It doesn’t ‘leave us’ anywhere,” Stiles responds. “This is not an ‘us or them’ situation, Dad.”

“I was born this way,” Derek adds. “But not everyone in my family was a wolf. This doesn’t have to change your relationship with Stiles… unless _you_ let it.” Derek’s voice stays soft and low, but the quiet menace underlying his words is unmistakable. 

“And you think that I would do that?” the sheriff asks, matching Derek’s tone. The alpha merely shrugs, making it clear that he thinks there’s a possibility that the sheriff would do exactly that.

Stiles starts to worry – not because he necessarily thinks that his father would drop him because of this, no. But he does worry that his father might just go for his gun again and shoot Derek for even suggesting it. 

Fortunately, Melissa returns with that cup of coffee and makes the sheriff take it. “Noah, take this. And here, Derek, I made you one too.” They both take the mugs, and then stand there glaring at each other while Melissa moves to stand in front of Stiles. “How are you feeling,” she asks.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“How about you let me be the judge of that?” she says, guiding him to sit down on the sofa. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you currently feeling any pain or discomfort anywhere?”

Stiles answers ‘no’ to all of her questions, even though now that the massive adrenaline spike from earlier is wearing off, he’s starting to feel a restless itch under his skin again, and a noticeable amount of moisture in the seat of his pants – and this _really_ isn’t the time for this. 

Even more annoying is the light Melissa shines in his eyes to check his pupillary response. She seems surprised to see them shine orange, but she doesn’t say anything else until she encounters the healed over scar of Derek’s mating bite.

“Was this from Peter?” she asks quietly, sounding concerned. “Because the bite he gave Scott didn’t leave any permanent marks. Is this something that we need to worry about?”

Stiles hesitates, which is a bad move. It makes his dad suspicious enough to put down his cup of coffee and come over to inspect the mark himself.

“It’s nothing bad,” Stiles assures them. His first instinct is to cover it up and try to hide. And it’s not because he’s ashamed or anything like that. But he knows that his dad is not going to be happy about it. He squashes down that instinct by gripping tightly to the edge of the sofa cushion with both hands while his dad tips his head so that he’s baring his neck – Derek’s mark on full display.

The alpha starts growling lowly, shocking the sheriff into letting go of Stiles’s head and spinning around to look at Derek in surprise. “Did _you_ do this?” he asks, sounding appalled.

“ _Yes_.” Derek’s words come out quiet and tight-lipped – almost like he doesn’t _want_ to say it, but his instincts just won’t let him deny it. 

Stiles’s father takes a step toward Derek, but before he can say anything, Stiles jumps up and grabs him by the elbow, forcing him to stop. “Dad, it’s fine! _Really_. It’s nothing bad… I swear!” 

“Stiles, if you think I’m just going to stand by and say nothing while he—”

“Ok, ok!” Melissa interrupts, stepping between Stiles and his father. “Just… calm down for a minute… _all_ of you.” The tension in the room lessens, but just barely. “Stiles seems to be alright, Noah, but _you_ really need to rest.” The sheriff doesn’t look happy about it, but his shoulders do sort of slump in acceptance of her assessment. 

“And I also don’t think it would do anyone any harm to take a night to process all of this before you and Stiles continue having this conversation, yes?” Again, Stiles’s father just sort of shrugs in defeat and nods in agreement. “So why don’t you come back home with me tonight, and everyone can sleep and eat and come back to regroup tomorrow morning… _Late_ tomorrow morning,” she adds, glancing at her wrist watch. 

“And leave Stiles here alone with _him?!_ ” 

“Noah, _please_ ….” The two appear to have some sort of brief conversation through facial expressions alone – which is also sort of shocking for Stiles to see, though if it gets his dad to lay off of Derek for a while, he thinks he can let it pass without too much mental anguish. 

“Fine.” He turns and points a finger in Derek’s face. “But don’t think for a second that we’re done talking about this.” Derek nods tightly and refuses to drop his gaze until the sheriff looks away first, turning his attention back to Stiles. “Go to sleep,” he commands. “And keep your ass in this house until I get back.” 

Stiles nods and wraps his arms around his own middle, feeling scolded like he’s five years old again. But then his dad swoops in and wraps him up in another all-encompassing hug, and a dam breaks while silent tears run down Stiles’s face and he clings to his father a little too tightly, probably.

“I’ll _always_ love you, Stiles,” he says adamantly. “Please don’t ever think you have to keep things from me; no matter how bad it may be, I’ll always be there for you, son… _always_ , you hear?”

He sounds pretty emotional himself, and his scent is practically screaming love and worry in equal parts. But his heartbeat stays perfectly steady, and it helps to ease the constant tightness in his chest that has been plaguing Stiles for months now. 

“Thanks, Dad,” he manages to choke out. And for being the one who _always_ has a witty response, Stiles finds himself uncharacteristically witless as he stands back and watches his father depart with Melissa, locking the door behind him as he goes.

He stands and stares at the locked door until Derek comes up and hooks an arm around his waist, pulling Stiles back firmly, but gently against his body. “It’ll be alright, Baby,” Derek assures him – words whispered tenderly in Stiles’s ear.

“He’s coming back, right?” Stiles can’t help but ask. 

“He’s coming back.” The words are firm, and his heartbeat is steady; and Stiles spins in Derek’s hold and rests their foreheads together lovingly – letting the words play on repeat in his head while their hearts beat in sync.


End file.
